


Nightlights

by moonfairy13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Fred Weasley Lives, Good Weasley Family (Harry Potter), Hogwarts, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Post-Hogwarts, Smut, Weasley Family-centric (Harry Potter), Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-11-05 23:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17928482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonfairy13/pseuds/moonfairy13
Summary: The war is over, all the Weasleys survived and September finds Hermione, Charlie and Neville heading back to Hogwarts. Within the first week, Hermione notices that something isn't right with Charlie, and makes it her business to find out why he stays up all night. This story follows them through a year of helping each other cope with the aftermath of the war and find a new path as they negotiate Charlie's fear, their confused feelings, Hermione's desire to have adventures before settling down and George and Fred's determination to get them together, no matter what.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OK, so someone asked if I could try my hand at Charlie/Hermione, and here's what happened :-) 
> 
> I want to thank fairylightinthenight, who read and commented on this, which spurred me on and made it better :-)

Hermione pulled George Weasley’s old quidditch sweater more firmly around her shoulders. It wasn’t that it was particularly cold; it was an August evening, after all. But she had never felt completely warm since the Battle of Hogwarts, just a few months ago, in which she, Harry and their friends had defeated Voldemort. When George had offered her the top which he said had shrunk in the wash, she had accepted it as much as a reminder that she did have a family, and surrogate brothers, as for its warmth. Knowing that he could easily have returned it to the correct size with a flash of his wand but wanted her to have the comfort of the soft, faded, worn fabric, she treasured it even more.

At the time, they had just arrived back at The Burrow after visiting George’s twin brother in the hospital. Fred was recovering after a run-in with a wall during the final battle of the war they had fought together, and Hermione had loaded up a tiny muggle music player with songs that she thought he might enjoy. George was almost more touched than Fred himself, and he had resolved then and there to try to do anything he could to help the little witch who had ensured that the injured Fred reached the infirmary in time, casting pain relieving and healing spells as they moved him down the busy corridors. He continually loaded her up with products from their shop that he thought she would appreciate, focusing on items from their magical stationary and toiletries ranges, but before he could offer Hermione her choice of roles at his and Fred’s growing ‘Wheezes’ empire, Hermione had accepted her current position. 

It was that position which had brought her to this stone-lined room out of whose window she now stared.

Her very own professor’s quarters in Hogwarts castle.

The witch had spent almost seven years of her life here already, although for those she had slept in Gryffindor Tower. Now she was on the ground floor rooms, accompanied by her small family; Crookshanks, the half-kneazle cat who appeared to plan to live forever, and Polix, a young brown owl who had been bought and named for her by Fred and George so that she could keep in touch with her friends when she was at school.

Hermione turned her head, smiling in reminiscence as eyes drifted over the whomping willow and Hagrid’s old hut, which she supposed might now be Charlie Weasley’s hut, as he had apparently taken Hagrid’s old job. 

Hermione had fond memories of spending time with Hagrid, along with Harry and Ron. She rather hoped that Charlie would let her visit the hut now and again and drink tea with her by the fire that the old Care of Magical Creatures teacher had always kept alight near his famous pumpkin patch.

Hagrid himself was now on sabbatical in France, kindling a rather different kind of flame, and Hermione smiled to think of how he was getting on with Madame Maxime.

A knock on her door drew her from her thoughts.

“Come in!” she called, wondered who could possibly be visiting her so soon after her own arrival.

It was a small house elf. “Lissy wasn’t sure if she could come in, mistress Hermione. Thought she had better knock first and ask.”

“Hello Lissy, it’s nice to meet you…” Hermione knelt and offered her hand in greeting to the elf, who took it and gave it a shy kiss, along with a deep curtsy. Hermione decided not to comment; she had learned enough in the past year or so to realise that the liberation of the oppressed little creatures wasn’t as simple as she had thought when she was younger.

“Missus Headmissus says that dinner will be at five today, due to term starting tomorrow and we is all needing to be ready for the feast.”

“Thank you, Lissy.” The little elf apparated away before Hermione had even finished speaking.

She looked at her watch. It was four thirty. Just about time to finish unpacking before she walked to the Great Hall then. Lifting her wand, Hermione directed her belongings onto the shelves and into the drawers, with the final flourish being the large patchwork quilt that Molly Weasley had sent with her, so she would feel more at home in her new bed.

But when Hermione stood to walk herself to dinner, a flash of something caught her eye out of the window. Looking more closely, she realised that it was a redheaded someone – almost certainly Charlie – landing on a broom just out of reach of the whomping willow. Realising that he was unlikely to get the message about dinner if she didn’t tell him, and knowing how much the Weasley men valued their food, Hermione decided to take the long way around to go and let him know. The walk would do her good, she thought, especially as she had every intention of having treacle tart for pudding.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” Charlie greeted her with the customary Weasley wink as Hermione drew near.

She smiled up at him as he held out his arms to hug her, sneaking them under her outer robes and around her shoulders when she stepped towards him. “My hands are so cold from flying; forgot to cast a warming charm,” he said, presumably in way of explanation as to why he was rubbing his hands in circles on her back.

“Well I’m cold all the time, Charlie; I don’t know that I’m equipped to be your hot water bottle!”

“Whose is this, then?” Charlie asked, his fingers recognising and tracing the letters on her back.

“George’s,” she replied with a smile. “He gave it to me when it shrunk.”

“Ooooh, Hermione! Is my little brother trying to stamp his name on you?” He raised his eyebrows, flashing his blue eyes at the same time.

Hermione laughed. “I don’t think so! The twins and I will always be good friends but there’s no romance there.”

“Hmmmm, we’ll see,” Charlie teased. “Mum seems to have designs on you being a Weasley…”

Hermione shrugged. “Maybe…” She wasn’t sure what to say to that. Romance wasn’t something she had given a lot of thought to of late. Or ever, really.

“Had you and Ron pegged for a couple for a long while.”

“So did lots of people,” Hermione replied. “Except Fred and George, who are wiser than people give them credit for. But we’d be the worst of lovers even though we’re the best of friends. Besides, he’s enjoying the fruits of his war efforts in the shape of a different witch every night.”

“That doesn’t leave many of us to pick from,” Charlie moved slightly closer. “Bill’s married, Percy’s a tosser … and that just leaves me…”

Hermione realised that George’s jumper had warmed her up very nicely now, as a flush rose to her cheeks. Or maybe it was the campfire that Charlie had kindled upon his arrival. Yes, that must be it. Because she couldn’t possibly be responding to Charlie’s relentless flirting.

“You’re the eternal bachelor though … or so I’ve been told.”

Charlie laughed. “By the twins?” He leaned in closer. “They just don’t want the competition,” he winked. Seeing Hermione’s blush, he decided a change of topic was in order. “So to what do I owe this pleasure, Ms Granger? Not that it isn’t delightful to have you come to warm me up, but have you come to see me or to reacquaint yourself with my new humble abode? I hear from Hagrid that you used to be a regular visitor…”

“Well actually,” Hermione smiled, glad to be able to put an end to a flirtation with the older man that she wasn’t sure she could cope with, “it’s more how I can help you. Dinner is being served early, because term starts tomorrow. I saw you flying in from my room and I didn’t want you to miss out. May I escort you?” She offered her arm and Charlie took it.

“Why yes, Ms Granger, you may. Let me just pop this inside.” Charlie levitated his broom and belongings inside the hut and closed the door, holstering his wand. “Dunno what’s out here yet; better be safe than sorry,” he grinned.

Together, they walked across the soft grass to the welcoming lights of the great hall. It was strange, walking towards the teacher’s table instead of stopping at the one for Gryffindor students, and even stranger that the four long tables at which the students would normally be sitting were empty.

“The peace won’t last long, Ms Granger,” Professor McGonagall said, not unkindly. “Now, I thought that you and Professor Weasley might like to sit at this end, and Mr Longbottom can join you when he arrives. As you may know, I’ve offered him the same kind of arrangement as yourself. Professor Sprout wishes to retire but is happy to stay and tutor him for a year, just as I will with you.”

Hermione smiled and thanked her old teacher. She really had fallen on her feet. Not wishing to take a job at the Ministry, she had approached the Headmistress to ask about the options for taking her NEWTS. Minerva McGonagall had been delighted to hand craft Hermione an intern position, in which she would be allowed to design her own study programme, access seventh year classes as she felt it necessary, take each NEWT when she was ready and begin her teacher training by taking the first and second years for transfiguration, under Minerva’s tutelage. Wanting to acknowledge and honour Hermione’s service and the experience that she had gathered over the past year, Minerva had given her all the privileges of a professor, which included a set of rooms and a place at the professors’ dining table, but with the flexibility and freedom to complete her own learning as well. And if it helped the young woman recover from the war, well so much the better as far as Headmistress McGonagall was concerned.

Hermione was looking forward to seeing some old friends as well. Some of the sixth and seventh year students would be returning to live in the castle while completing their studies while others, like Ginny, had opted to take the distance learning option that McGonagall had offered those who had played a part in the war. These older students would complete their final year through a combination of self-study and short intensive periods of classes at the school. And Hermione was delighted that one of her good friends had been offered a similar arrangement to herself in acknowledgement of his own part in the war.

As if on cue, Neville Longbottom strode up the hall with a wide grin on his face. “How’s this then, Hermione?” he asked, a million times more confident than the first time Hermione had met him; a shy, chubby boy who was nervously seeking his lost toad on the Hogwarts Express. He waved his arms to indicate the table, which was now groaning under the weight of the food, and Hermione smiled back.

“I think you’re sitting here, on my other side,” she told him, patting the bench. As Neville neared, he held his arms out, engulfing her in a hug and at the same time offering his hand to shake Charlie’s. The two men eyed each other and then smiled broadly as Neville threw his long leg over the bench and sat down. 

“It’s nice to properly meet you,” Neville told Charlie.

“Same here,” Charlie replied. “Nice work with the sword.”

“Thanks, mate.” Neville reached for a roll and the butter. “Couldn’t have done it without your reinforcements though.”

Hermione smiled to herself at the exchange of testosterone-fuelled admiration between the two wizards. She liked them both very much and, with few other teachers who were anywhere near her age, hoped they would all be friends. She was excited about this new start and couldn’t wait to get back into her studies.

Neville gazed around the room, finding it hard to believe his luck. He had landed on his feet and couldn’t wait to begin his new role. Tomorrow evening would see the arrival of the students and then term would begin the next day. He was just as excited to dive into a new chapter.

Charlie, however, had mixed feelings. He was just as glad to be here as the others, if not more so. The war had brought a few things home to him, and he had realised that, as much as he had loved his work with dragons, he wanted to be near enough to his family to go home each weekend for Sunday lunch. But the war had also changed him, in a way that no-one had realised, and Charlie still hadn’t figured out how to cope. During the day, the bulky, strong wizard was as confident as ever. But when the sun fell, everything changed. The war had affected everyone in different ways, and it had left Charlie Weasley terrified of the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione’s first week went reassuringly well. Mostly because she spent the best part of Wednesday sat in the library surrounded by all the pieces of paper she had gathered over the previous couple of days. There, she had worked out a timetable which would mean she could study for and take her charms, transfiguration and arithmancy NEWTS before the Christmas holidays, while also managing her teaching load and having a bit of relaxation time. The latter wasn’t something she had prioritised before the defeat of Voldemort, but nowadays she saw the value in having time off from her work and studies. She still had the problem of feeling constantly cold, but the addition of a layer of black professor’s robes over her usual clothes and George’s sweater had helped a bit. 

Like many of those who had survived the second wizarding war, Hermione often found herself counting her blessings as she walked around the castle these days. She loved teaching, finding a lot of joy in the enthusiasm of the tiny first and second years, but was slightly nervous at the thought of one day teaching the older students, some of whom were nearly the same age as her. As downsides went, Hermione could live with that. Her rooms were cosy and pleasant and meals were almost more enjoyable at the teacher’s table, although Hermione missed the camaraderie of sitting amongst a whole horde of people from her house. It was nice to chat to Neville and Charlie at lunch and dinner in what Neville had come to call the Gryffindor wing, although Charlie never seemed to make it in time for breakfast and was, as a consequence, always starving at lunchtime. 

“Would you like me to send Polix over in the mornings with some sausages for you?” Hermione had asked him one day towards the end of their first week. “If you’re struggling to get up in time for breakfast, I mean?” She didn’t mean it unkindly. It was a genuine offer of help, but Charlie didn’t take it well. 

“I’m fine,” he said, rather grumpily. “Just not hungry.” 

Hermione doubted that. He was a Weasley, after all, and the ability to eat twice as much as any other person and yet remain toned and gorgeous seemed to be an ability that most of them carried in their genes. And surely his fit, muscled frame and active lifestyle – not that Hermione spent too much time admiring his body, but it would be rude to look away when talking to him – required a good amount of food to sustain.

Charlie’s mood wasn’t that great in the evenings either. He seemed tired and careworn after the first couple of days, which got Hermione’s attention. She hadn’t spent much time with Charlie, in contrast to his other siblings, but she had always found him to be cheerful and friendly. She contemplated talking to George about it, but decided that the first step, in time honoured Hermione fashion, would be to do a bit of research and see if she could figure out what the problem was. 

As projects went, it was probably the simplest she had ever undertaken. To be fair, the location of her room had given her a head start in the shape of a half-formed thought which had been floating around in her mind for most of the first week. Having noticed that her ceiling tended to glow for most of the night, it was a short leap to decide to wrap up even warmer than usual in the evenings in order to sit by her window to read or study and, at the same time, investigate the source of the light. 

The answer was staggeringly simple. As each day began to darken, Charlie would head back to his hut and immediately add several logs to his fire, making it into a hefty blaze. Hermione could usually just make out the shape of the dragon keeper sat on a nearby log.

That wasn’t the surprising bit though. Hermione enjoyed a good campfire herself. No, the surprising bit was that, no matter how late Hermione watched him, Charlie never seemed to go to bed. Hermione never managed to outlast him and, on the occasions that she woke in the night, she would peer out of the window to find that he was still there. No wonder he never made it to breakfast, she thought. Was he an insomniac? If so, there were potions he could take, although perhaps he was one of those people who preferred to avoid them if he possibly could. 

Hermione was pleased that she had solved half the mystery, but clearly she couldn’t stop there. She decided the next day that she would approach Charlie himself before talking to George, Fred, Neville or perhaps even Ginny, and set herself the task of chatting with him after dinner that evening.

Charlie was on a mission of his own though, and had rushed off to his hut after their meal. Hermione shook her head at Neville’s suggestion of a game of cards, telling her friend that she needed to study, and wandered back to her room. If Charlie wouldn’t stay and talk to her, then clearly she needed to go to him. 

Back in her room, Hermione rifled through the wooden gift box of stationery items that George had sent with her to Hogwarts. Pulling out one of the matched pairs of ‘twinchat’ parchment pads that she loved so much, Hermione wrote a quick note on one and gave the other to Polix. “Could you take that to Charlie please, Polix? He’s over there, by his fire. I know it’s not far, but it’ll save me going out in the cold...”

Polix would fly anywhere for Hermione. He was pretty keen on visiting Charlie too, as the burly, kind animal lover was well known amongst the Hogwarts owls for always having a great selection of treats which he shared generously. Just a few minutes after he had left, a note began to appear on her pad. 

“Hi,” Charlie had written back. 

Well, she thought. He had never been one for long chats, but at least it was a start. 

“Are you OK?” She scrawled, and then wished she had thought that through more. It was always such a pointless question and she never knew how to answer it herself on days when she didn’t feel on top of the world. 

“Fine,” Charlie wrote back. Well yes, she probably deserved that. She needed to be a bit clearer. Better still, she needed to talk to him in person. Biting her lip in thought, she added another line. 

“Can I visit you? Want to ask you something. Do you have a floo connection? I’ve got a fireplace in my room and it would save me walking over in the cold.”

She watched her pad as he wrote again. “Yes, but it’s only internal to Hogwarts. It’s still set up as ‘Hagrid’s hut’.”

“I’ll be there in a few mins,” Hermione wrote. “Need to put on more clothes.”

When she arrived, the hut itself was dark; Charlie was clearly still out by his campfire. She whispered ‘lumos’ to light her way through his cabin but then extinguished it almost as soon as she exited the door. The glow of the fire that she could see from her window was merely the tip of the iceberg. Charlie had a massive blaze going, and the trees around his pumpkin patch were filled with magical lamps. It was almost like daylight. But he must have cast some sort of light shielding spell around his camp to keep it confined, because Minerva would certainly have investigated the source of the illumination otherwise. 

“Charlie, what’s going on?” Hermione asked gently. This clearly wasn’t normal. “Are you having problems sleeping?”

The older wizard shrugged. “Yeah, something like that.” He took a pull on a muggle beer. Hermione wondered if that was allowed, but suppressed her desire to ask. Instead, she sat on the log beside him and gently touched his arm. 

“Insomnia?” 

Charlie shrugged again. 

Hermione sighed, realising that he wasn’t going to make this easy. But his responses so far had confirmed to her that something was bothering him. Well, she wasn’t afraid of silence. Or of having a bit of time to think. She gently rested her hand on Charlie’s leg and it occurred to her only after a few minutes that he must be feeling really quite rubbish as he had neither commented on that nor flirted with her. But after a few minutes her thoughts coalesced and it became clear that she was going to have to push him a bit. 

“Please talk to me, Charlie; I’m worried,” she said quietly. “It’s obvious something’s up. You haven’t been yourself at all over the last few days, and I don’t think you’re sleeping.” She rubbed his leg gently with her fingers and he reached down to take her hand; an acknowledgement of their friendship even in his sour mood. “We’ve all been affected by the war, you know, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Me, I’m cold all the time, and I get palpitations if something happens unexpectedly. George has nightmares about nearly losing Fred, and Fred is terrified of anything falling near him; it’s a bit of a problem when things fall off the shelves in the shop...”

Charlie nodded. He knew all of this, and he knew rationally that it was OK to be afraid. But as the second eldest son in a big family, it had been his job to be the lieutenant who supported Bill and he had always tried to be a strong leader for the others. Merlin knew that Bill had been a big act to follow in that respect. 

But Charlie also knew that he had barely slept for a week and he couldn’t go on like this. For reasons that he never clearly understood, something shifted inside him and he decided to drop his stubbornness and tell the concerned little witch the truth. 

“I’m not so good in the dark these days,” he admitted. If not for the rosy-cheeked glow that the big fire had already given his face, Hermione would have seen his blush. But she had spent enough time with his brothers to know it was there and that it was kinder to pretend it wasn’t. 

“Is that a new thing?” Hermione spoke gently. 

Charlie took a deep breath. “Since the final battle. I got caught in some of the twins’ Peruvian darkness powder and a death eater threw a nasty spell at me.” He showed Hermione a scar on his arm, and she touched it gently with her fingers. “I didn’t see him in the dark. If I had been a few inches to the left … well, I wouldn’t be here now. I suppose it all got linked together in my head somehow and I’ve struggled with being in the dark ever since. 

“But you’ve surely slept since then?” Hermione said, absentmindedly slipping her hand down Charlie’s arm until she was holding his fingers. 

Charlie nodded and winced simultaneously. He wanted to be honest but that would mean revealing more than Hermione might be comfortable with. “Let’s just say I don’t have a problem sleeping if I have company in my bed. It’s only when I’m on my own...”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to be grateful that the fire's heat hid her own blushes. She knew of Charlie’s reputation as a wizard who loved being with women from the odd comment that his brothers had made but it wasn’t exactly something that she had planned to converse with him about. 

She decided to stick to her line of questioning, although the tone of her voice was gentle. “You must have known you’d be sleeping alone here? And you seemed OK our first evening; you were looking forward to your new role. What’s changed?”

“I thought the job would be good for me. Get me closer to Mum and Dad and the others.” Charlie jerked his thumb towards the hut. “I knew I might not be able to sleep alone at night but I thought if I asked Minerva for the hut then I could sit out by the fire and then catch up during the day and at weekends; that’s how I managed after the war.” He swigged more beer. 

“Is that not working, though?” Stupid question, she thought. It couldn’t possibly be working; he wouldn’t look so tired if he was, but she seemed to need to carefully tease each bit of the story from him.

Charlie shook his head slowly. “My schedule is heavier than I thought and I’m only getting two or three hours in between dawn and when lessons start.”

“Oh Charlie...”

“I don’t want your pity,” he said, rather sharply. 

“Good, because you’re not getting it,” Hermione told him. “But why do you think I’m here?”

“I don’t need a bloody babysitter,” he said. “Some things a man needs to figure out by himself.”

“Bollocks!” Hermione replied. 

“Beg pardon?”

“I said that’s bollocks, Charlie. We’ve already discussed this. Do you think you’re the only one affected?”

“Fuck, no.” He was a tad worried now that she thought he was being selfish. 

“We all need to help each other.” Hermione was firm. 

“I still don’t need a babysitter,” he repeated. 

“Of course you don’t. And frankly, you can be as grumpy with me as you like, Charlie Weasley. But there a simple solution here, which will help me as well, and I cannot look your mother in the eye on Sunday knowing that I left you in this state when I could have helped us both. Come on!” She took his hand and led him towards his hut. 

Charlie was so stunned by her straightforward, bossy approach that he simply obeyed. That was another Weasley male trait that Hermione rather appreciated. Charlie allowed her to lead him to his cabin as she muttered a lumos spell and watched him do the same. Leaving him outside in the light for a moment, she entered his space and summoned a number of clear glass jars from a cupboard. 

“How did you know they were there...?” Charlie began, as he stood just outside the door, and then remembered how much time she had spent here with Hagrid during her own school years. He watched, fascinated, as she cast spells which added glowing blue lights to each jar, levitating them to hang around the walls and ceiling that were next to the quilt-covered bed so that they added a subtle and comforting illumination to the wooden cabin. “That’s amazing,” he said, quite forgetting to be grumpy for a moment. 

“Come on then,” Hermione said again, as she waved her wand to put his outside lights out and ensure that the campfire was safe. Holding out her hand, she encouraged Charlie into the nightlight-filled cabin, led him to the large bed in the corner and finally whispered ‘nox’ to her wand now that the space was lit to their mutual satisfaction. “Which side do you like?”

Charlie pointed to the nearest side. He had figured out Hermione’s plan and he was buggered if he was going to let this little witch sleep nearest to the door. Scared of the dark or not, he still had an urge to protect her by laying himself between her and any possible danger. 

With little ceremony, Hermione slipped her outer robes from her shoulders and let them slip to the floor while she toed her boots off. She climbed onto the bed - which was higher than she had realised, making Charlie chuckle a little - and slid herself under the covers. 

“Come ON, Charlie, I’m cold!” Hermione smiled at him. It had occurred to her that stressing her own needs might be the key to making this more acceptable for him. “You think I’m doing this just for you? Well, I’m not that altruistic. I’ve been bloody freezing since the war and I don’t sleep well either because of it. That’s why I have George’s sweater, remember? So this isn’t just about helping you. You’d be doing me a massive favour if you’d just lay next to me and warm me up enough to sleep. I’d get a big dog to snuggle, but Crookshanks wouldn’t be happy and you smell better...”

Appeased - although not stupid - Charlie decided he could go along with this, if only to get one good night’s sleep. He shed his own outer clothes, climbed in beside Hermione and put his arms around her. Hermione shifted a little, so that Charlie was spooning her, and she pillowed her head on one of her hands and tangled the fingers of the other together with Charlie’s.

“Happy now?” he asked, still a bit gruff. 

“Very happy, thank you. And much warmer. Night night, Charlie.”

Despite himself and the fact that it wasn't even that late, seven minutes later, Charlie Weasley fell asleep, calmed and comforted by the soft blue glow of Hermione’s nightlights and the even softer company of his friend. It was the best sleep he’d had since arriving at Hogwarts and he didn’t wake until their wands softly vibrated in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Charlie woke first, feeling more comfortable and better rested than he had done for a long time. He smiled to himself as he became aware of his body and of the little witch who was still sleeping in his arms. Leaning forward, he kissed the top of Hermione’s head. “Wake up, sleepy … it’s breakfast time!”

Hermione mumbled to him, taking a few moments to become fully aware of where she was and who she was with. When she realised, she whispered his name. “Charlie … I had forgotten. I was so warm and comfortable!”

“Good. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

She nodded. 

“We slept late,” he told her. “Breakfast will have started already.” 

Hermione’s eyes flew open.

“It’s OK,” Charlie laughed, pointing to the fireplace. Hermione was relieved to see how much better he seemed after a good night’s sleep; more cheerful and almost back to his flirty old self. “No-one’ll know. You floo back to your room and I’ll see you at the teacher’s table…” As she turned to go, he caught her shoulder. “Thank you,” he said, with a quick hug, and Hermione nodded.

“It was my pleasure, Charlie. I slept really well too.”

Ten minutes later, Charlie strode to the Great Hall across the grass, Hermione entered from her corridor and they wished each other good morning as if they hadn’t spent the night curled up together. 

“You’re abnormally happy, mate,” Neville said to Charlie as they took turns helping themselves to sausages.

“Had a great night’s sleep for a change,” Charlie replied. “Sorry I’ve been such an arse all week…”

Neville shrugged. “I get it,” he said. “We’ve all been changed.” He leaned in a bit closer. “I get nightmares in which I missed the snake…” His eyes were wide to illustrate the joke, but it was clear that there was more to it then a desire to make his friend laugh.

Charlie nodded his head and patted the younger wizard’s shoulder reassuringly, adding a bit of bacon to Neville’s plate as he did so. He knew Neville, like Hermione, was an only child, and Charlie was an experienced older brother who was good at doling out silent support. At the same time, Neville felt Hermione’s hand on his other arm.

“Can you pass me the pumpkin juice please, Neville?”

“Course,” he replied, reaching for the earthenware jug and pouring some into her glass. “How did you sleep?”

“Brilliantly, thank you,” Hermione smiled.

“Well that’s good then. Everyone slept well. Things are looking up all round. And it’s the weekend, and this time next week we’ll be allowed to go to Hogsmeade!”

Charlie nearly spat out his own pumpkin juice, and Hermione and Neville turned at the sound of a laugh from their right.

“Mr Longbottom,” said Minerva McGonagall. “You don’t have to wait until it’s a designated Hogsmeade weekend for students any longer, Your new status allows you to go to Hogsmeade anytime you like, or anywhere else come to that, as long as you don’t miss any of your timetabled duties. My preference is that you let me know if you’re going further afield or staying out overnight, but that’s a professional courtesy rather than a rule.”

Hermione and Charlie both laughed at Neville’s face, and he turned to them in surprise.

“How come we didn’t go last weekend?” he questioned.

“I wanted to finish unpacking,” Hermione explained. “And get properly settled in before my first full week.”

Charlie just shrugged and grinned. The truth was that he had been catching up on his sleep, but he wasn’t ready to tell Neville that.

“Well are we going today then?” Neville sounded beyond excited.

“Yes, if you like,” Hermione said. “I’d like to visit George and Fred in the new shop, see how they’re getting on, and I wouldn’t mind doing a bit of shopping. I’ll even buy you a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks if you like,” she winked at Neville, knowing that he had a soft spot for Hannah, a friend from their Dumbledore’s Army days who was temporarily working there.

“Ace,” Neville said, and then turned to Charlie. “Are you coming too, Charlie?”

“Yeah, why not,” Charlie said. “It’d be good to see Fred and George, and I did promise them a bit of help in the new shop when I had the time.”

“Yes, me too, though I’m not sure what they want me to do, but I imagine they’ve got a plan,” said Hermione, taking charge. “Right then. Half nine at the front gate? I know we could floo, but I’d quite like the walk…”

“Brilliant,” said Neville, piling more bacon onto his fork and feeling excited that his day had taken such an unexpectedly happy turn.

Less than a mile away, Fred and George Weasley – who had been well aware that none of the professors or interns needed permission to visit – were eagerly anticipating the arrival of their friends in the newest branch of their joke and novelty shop. 

The two men had actually made detailed plans for the Hogsmeade branch of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes before the second wizarding war had caused them to need to temporarily close their main shop. They hadn’t, of course, had a chance to do much about them until it had ended and, even then, the initial focus was on getting Fred better. 

They had seen a clear opportunity to offer fun and products to Hogwarts students – and other Hogsmeade visitors, of course – in a direct manner rather than via mail order. They were also very aware, from the comments made to them in their main shop in the build-up to the beginning of the new term, that there was a huge appetite for this amongst the recovering students. So, rather than work solely on restocking their main shop and then focusing on Hogsmeade later, they had decided to try to do both at the same time and to open the Hogsmeade store, even if only partially, for the first weekend that the students would be allowed to visit the wizarding community. 

To this end, they had spent the summer focused on getting the Diagon Alley store sorted and then employed several of their old school friends, under the able management of Lee Jordan, to continue working on the main shop, while they moved their attention onto the northern branch.

They had already banked on enlisting Charlie, Hermione and Neville in their endeavours and, when the three arrived at the door, Fred and George greeted them with enthusiasm, hugs and the news that they had laid on a selection of prime treats for the workers.

“Workers?” said Hermione, somewhat surprised. “I’m not planning on spending the whole day here, you know?! I want to go to the bookstore as well and I’ve promised Neville that I’ll buy him a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks…”

Fred interrupted her, diving into a bag and holding aloft a couple of bottles. “We have butterbeer here! No need to go anywhere.”

“Ahhhh,” said Hermione. “But you don’t have Hannah in that bag, do you, Fred?”

“Oooooooooh!” Fred exclaimed excitedly. “Neville Longbottom! Have you got the hots for our Hannah?!”

Neville blushed, and Hermione felt slightly guilty, but not much. Neville had a much higher chance of getting his witch if he had Fred or George as his wingman. 

Fred was looking out of the window. “She’ll be past in a bit; she usually goes over to the bakery in the mornings. I’ll grab her when she does, and invite her to test some samples…”

“Oh please don’t,” groaned Neville.

“Neville!” Fred didn’t seem to have a volume control this morning. “Are you a man or a mouse? I mean, a strapping wiz like you?” Fred continued. “She’d be mad not to!”

Charlie’s laugh was just as loud as Fred’s on that occasion. “Leave the poor lad alone, Freddie; there’ll be plenty of time to figure his love life out later. Now what is it you’re bribing us to do?”

“Well,” George spoke this time. “Charlie and Neville, we need more wands to get the main structure of the shelving in place, and then Lee is going to send a load of boxes through the floo that we can put on the shelves ready for the opening next weekend. Those have to be lifted the muggle way though, because we don’t want to use magic and risk setting off the dungbombs.

“Alright,” said Neville, and Charlie also nodded in agreement. That didn’t sound too hard.

“Is my wand not good enough for that then?” asked Hermione. “Can I go to the bookshop now?”

“Gods, no!” Even if she hadn’t been facing him, Hermione would have known from the volume that it was Fred speaking again. “We need your expertise on potions, Ms Granger.” He began to steer her to a bench which contained a cauldron, a large book and a big mess of ingredients. “There’s no way we’ll be ready to open in full next week, so we’re going to offer free samples of a few of our main products, and we were hoping that you’d make some of them up for us.” He leaned in, close to her ear. “We don’t trust just anyone with our recipe book, you see, love.”

“Hmmmm”. That wasn’t what Hermione had planned for her day, and she wasn’t always keen on unexpected change. But Fred had a secret weapon, and he raised his eyebrows in his twin’s direction.

George slid his arm around Hermione. “How about if we made it so that your reward was a trip to the bookstore with me at two, where I buy you a book and then we sit on the squishy sofas and have a pot of tea together and chat about anything you like?”

Hermione nodded. “I can manage that. But you can only have me here til two, and when we’re done with our tea I want to have a wander round.”

George kissed her cheek.

“Georgie’s totally her favourite,” Fred said cheerfully to Charlie and Neville. “But I don’t mind. He needs someone to appreciate him. Other than Angelina, that is, who would like to show her appreciation in a rather different way, that probably doesn’t involve drinking tea,” he winked, as he stood and then led them all towards the area where he wanted to set up the new shelves. He raised his wand. “Right, are we ready boys?”

Their day had been so full of work, shopping, drinks and brotherly banter that Charlie hadn’t given a moment’s thought to how or where he was going to spend the night. He had enjoyed the work, and the slow walk back to Hogwarts. If anyone had asked him about his plans for sleep, he would probably have shrugged and said that he would be back to sitting up in his illuminated camp. So he was a bit surprised when, fifteen minutes after they had bid each other goodnight after their Hogwarts dinner, his floo had burst into light and Hermione had appeared in his cabin, in a pair of pink striped pyjamas, a lilac dressing gown and a pair of fluffy slippers. Crookshanks – who clashed horribly with her outfit – was in her arms. 

“He was cross that I left him alone last night, and I thought you probably wouldn’t mind, seeing’s how much you love animals.”

Charlie didn’t need to answer that. He was already on his haunches, holding his hands out to greet and stroke the half-kneazle, who was desperate to get down from Hermione’s arms the minute he saw the dragon keeper. Crookshanks wasn’t keen on many people, but Charlie was one of his favourites.

“He’ll be thrilled because he can get outside here,” she continued chatting. “There’s no outside door on my rooms, and I can’t bear to have the window open for him.”

Still petting Crookshanks, Charlie was about to make some quip about how he could help the scantily-dressed witch when Hermione surprised him by climbing straight into his bed, settling herself under the quilt on her appointed side and flicking her wand to fill the jars with her blue flame nightlights before opening a book that she had been carrying in her dressing gown pocket.

“No rush,” she said to Charlie. “But I was ready to get into bed and read my new book that George bought me and there was no point getting warm in my own bed and then having to get out again. And I thought you might like company before it got dark … it’ll save you lighting all those lanterns.”

Charlie wasn’t a man of many words at the best of times, and he didn’t have any to spare in that moment. So he simply nodded and then went back out to carry on with his own evening’s work. Once he had tidied up outside and damped down the fire, he came back into the hut to see that Hermione had fallen asleep over her book. He lifted it gently and put it next to her wand on the bedside table. Charlie then stripped off his outer clothes, climbed into his bed beside Hermione and lay there for a moment, wondering what to do. He didn’t have long to think about it, though. Sensing his arrival, Hermione turned herself and wriggled backwards until her body was snuggled right up next to Charlie’s. He put his arms around her, like before, and she sighed in happiness.

“Night, love,” he whispered, but Hermione was already halfway back to sleep and merely mumbled in response.


	4. Chapter 4

From that point on, and without any formal agreement having been made, Charlie and Hermione's sleeping arrangement became a permanent one. Crookshanks declined to go back to Hermione’s rooms in the castle during the day, preferring to stay in Charlie’s hut and have round-the-clock access to the outside as long as they were both sleeping there. 

And they did both sleep there every night, warm and safe in each other’s arms, as late summer turned into autumn and Polix moved himself to the owlery for warmth, visiting Charlie only when the sun was at its highest. During those first few weeks, Charlie and Hermione fell into a series of routines, which they both rather enjoyed. They would wake up cuddled together, have a short chat about their day and then part company when Hermione would floo back to her rooms to shower and dress, only to bid Charlie a good morning again a short while later when they would share breakfast with Neville and their other colleagues. Then, they would go about their relatively separate days and generally only meet again once daylight began to fade. The onset of twilight was generally Hermione’s cue to gather up whatever she was doing or reading and floo to Charlie’s hut, where she would light their nightlights to welcome in the evening and then settle herself either at his table or sometimes in the bed. 

They developed a shared rhythm and routine during the weekends as well. On Saturdays, they would usually walk to Hogsmeade, often with Neville, although Fred and George had made short work of encouraging him to ask Hannah out in September, and Neville quickly got into the habit of staying with Hannah for the rest of the weekend, leaving Charlie and Hermione to walk back to Hogwarts on their own. The three of them liked to begin their weekend with a coffee, then part company as Neville stayed with Hannah while Charlie and Hermione joined Fred and George for the day. The twins had quickly realised that Hermione was very creative and had lots of great ideas for potion-based products, so they had given her a loose contract which promised her a generous royalty on any product that she created for them to sell. 

After a few hours in the shop, Charlie and Hermione sometimes had a wander around the other shops, together or separately, and Hermione also enjoyed flooing down to the Diagon Alley store from time to time, so that she could wander about and spend time with other friends. And now and again, Charlie would stay at the school and referee quidditch matches for Madame Hooch. It gave the games mistress a break and allowed her to watch the players more carefully. On the Saturdays when Charlie did that, George often accompanied Hermione back to Hogwarts, sometimes with Harry and Ginny joining them as well, to watch the game. Angelina, who had asked George out on a date in October, having been persuaded by Fred that it would be a far better plan than waiting for George to get on with it himself, would join them once her own game finished. Afterwards, they would wait for Charlie to shower and dress and spend a happy evening back in Hogsmeade, all together in the pub. It was a far cry from the fear and worry of the past few years, and they each loved the rhythm and normality of their new, more relaxed lives.

Sundays were almost always spent at The Burrow, as Molly Weasley had a permanent three-line whip on attendance at her Sunday dinners. Hermione would often get up early to catch up on her marking and ensure she was ready for the week ahead. Charlie tended to lie in a bit, but he would also head outside to tidy up and get things ready for his Monday morning classes before they went to Devon. That way, when they flooed from Hermione’s room to the cosy house that Charlie grew up in, they could relax into the evening without needing to worry about what time they would get home. 

This rhythm took them from September into October and towards November. The days grew shorter, Molly’s meals began to include more root vegetables and talk turned to the autumn festivals. Fred and George filled the shop with pumpkin-related wheezes and, as October drew towards its end, Hermione realised that she and Charlie needed to address the problem of the shortening days. 

She decided to bring it up it on one of their Saturday walks back from Hogsmeade. Often, they didn’t chat too much on their way home, tired from their day, and both happy to enjoy the walk and each other’s company without needing to fill every scrap of silence with words. The peace was particularly refreshing after a day with the ebullient Weasley twins. But on the eve of changing the clocks, Hermione began her conversation almost as soon as they had left the village.

“You know the clocks go back an hour tonight, Charlie? So it’ll be getting dark about four thirty now…”

“Hmmmm…”

She couldn’t tell what that meant, but carried on anyway.

“Well I was thinking. Maybe you’d like to stay around your hut in the firelight for the couple of hours before we meet at dinner ... but, if you like, you could just come in, to my rooms. I mean, of course I know you can come in to the castle anytime, and I know Minerva has offered you inside rooms of your own if you want them...”

“To which I said no,” he muttered. The thought of sleeping alone in the pitch darkness inside the castle was worse than sleeping alone in the darkness of the night. At least when he was alone outside at night he had the stars and moon and his fire for solace.

“I know.” Hermione touched his arm. She kept explaining that he should not feel bad about his situation, but she hadn’t yet convinced him. Somehow, Charlie had decided that he was less of a man because of his problem, and Hermione was determined to work on this. She had offered the idea that he might seek help and even told him she could recommend a great mind healer, but he had been resistant to the idea, so she had dropped it – for now. “Well what I’m trying to say is that you can go to my rooms anytime you like, even if I’m not there. You’re already keyed into the floo and my password is ‘Bronte’.”

Charlie reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “You’re very good to me, you know.”

“Well you and your family have been very good to me too, Charlie. And I can’t say I don’t appreciate the warmth in return!”

So just like that, with little fuss, Hermione opened her own safe, private, lighted space to Charlie and even created a charm which he could utter along with the password which ensured that the candles in Hermione’s living room would illuminate themselves before he entered. At first, Charlie still stayed outside for a while, lighting his fire and doing his creature-related chores but, increasingly, Hermione would come back to her rooms after her afternoon classes and find him on her sofa, cuddled up with Crookshanks. On those evenings, they would walk to dinner together and then, afterwards, Hermione would generally be heard inviting Charlie to use her floo to save himself the walk back over the wet grass, and he would be heard accepting. Few who heard them had any idea that, rather than wishing him a good night and settling into her own bed, Hermione would floo ahead of him to his hut and charm his nightlights so that he arrived into the cosiness of their shared blue-tinged bedroom.

Then just a couple of weeks later, at the Hogwarts bonfire night celebration, things changed again.

Charlie had been charged with creating and overseeing the enormous November fifth bonfire that was a Hogwarts tradition, and he had enlisted Fred and George to come along and put on a small fireworks display on the Saturday evening. The twins owed him for all the help he had given them on the store, which was now flourishing, and they were happy to showcase their new range. The Headmistress had issued invitations to several other ex-students and it was a lively, enjoyable event with hot sausages, spiced cider and magical sparklers. Aware that this might be a bit challenging for Charlie, despite the multiple sources of light, Hermione had appointed herself his assistant and had undertaken to stay by his side all evening with a cleverly-designed gadget which was basically a bunch of her special nightlights that would enable him to see what he was doing.

The fact that Fred and George were there meant that, once the students had all been ushered back inside and to their bedrooms, a late night around Charlie’s campfire ensued, with Neville, Hannah, Ginny, Harry and a few other friends joining them all for firewhisky and marshmallows. Hermione had ceremoniously placed her nightlight stick, which had been admired by all, into the ground behind her and Charlie's favourite log. It was ten thirty before anyone began to drift off to the gate in order to apparate home and although it was just Hermione, Charlie, Fred and George left by at eleven o-clock, it was clear that Charlie and the twins had at least another couple of firewhiskies in them. Hermione had had a lovely evening but was desperate for sleep.

That gave her a dilemma. She couldn’t exactly get into Charlie’s bed without alerting Fred and George to their sleeping arrangement – which she didn’t think either of them wanted to do – but neither did she want to leave Charlie alone. 

Then an idea came to her. “I’m turning in,” she told the three men, before turning to Charlie. “Can you check your twinchat pad in a few minutes? I’m going to send over that lesson plan you wanted me to help with before I go to bed, but check and let me know you’ve got it, OK? I’ll see you soon. Good night!” If Charlie was a bit surprised to see her heading for the floo after she had given them each a goodnight hug, he didn’t show it, and all became clear when, intrigued, he went to check his pad and saw the note that she had written as soon as she had reached her room.

“Floo to my room and join me when the boys have gone. Doesn’t matter how late. I’ll leave nightlights.”

Once Fred and George were halfway to the front gates, Charlie had pulled her nightlight stick from where she had stuck it into the earth, headed into his hut and flooed to Hermione’s living room. Sure enough, she had filled that space and her bedroom with more of her soft blue lights to illuminate Charlie’s way. Charlie had never been in her bedroom before and, leaning the stick carefully against the wall so he could look around, he smiled to see the familiar patchwork quilt, which was one he remembered Molly making when he was a child.

As was often the case, Hermione was asleep when he climbed into bed. But, as was also often the case, she sensed Charlie’s arrival and moved her body closer to his, seeking warmth and offering comfort. 

The next morning, she was awake first. She was drinking tea and doing some marking in bed beside him when he awoke. “Good morning,” she smiled, indicating a mug of hot tea that she had made for Charlie and placed under a heating charm for when he woke. Once he had taken a few sips and was able to manage more than his usual early morning grunt, Hermione addressed the issue that was on her mind.

“Do you think we should move inside for the winter? In here?” she asked him. “It’s only going to get colder, it’s going to be dark before supper for months now and you’re here in the afternoons more often than not now. Might it be easier if we just sleep in my bed until spring?”

Charlie considered it. It wasn’t a bad idea. He loved the great outdoors but he wasn’t a fan of the brassic Scottish mornings and, on balance, he would definitely prefer to wake up indoors, have a shower in Hermione’s heated quarters and fill himself up with a hot breakfast before going outside.

“Won’t anyone realise?” he asked. He wasn’t ashamed of their set-up, exactly. He was slowly coming to accept what Hermione kept saying about it being OK to have this response. He wasn’t really quite sure how he felt about it, in truth, but he liked it being just theirs and not something that everybody knew about.

“I don’t see how,” Hermione replied. “I mean, the house elves know already, of course, because I haven’t slept in my own bed at night since my first week here, but they won’t tell anyone. And you’re always in and out of here; everyone knows we’re friends and you use my floo to save walking across in the wet. It’s none of their business anyway.”

She decided not to mention that she was fairly sure that Minerva was aware of their sleeping arrangements. Her old professor had asked her if everything was OK just a few days after she had first spent the night in Charlie’s hut, and Hermione had replied that she was fine. “And what about Mister Weasley?” McGonagall had enquired. “I’m aware that the war has left its mark on many of us. I know the Weasley boys are more likely to confide in you than me, but if there’s anything I can do to help…”

Hermione had hesitated, but only slightly. “There was an incident with some darkness powder, and I think that makes nights hard for Charlie…”

Minerva put her hand on the younger witch’s arm, nodding. “I quite understand. Well he’s never been very good at putting his feelings into words. Or anything into words really … he’s better at communicating with animals and broomsticks, is Charlie, but I’m quite sure he appreciates your help.”

Hermione hadn’t known how best to reply to that, but she didn’t need to, for the subject had rapidly been changed to a discussion of next week’s lessons. She had ended the morning feeling sure that Minerva McGonagall knew something was happening between them, suspecting that Minerva had something similar to the Marauders’ Map. But Hermione hadn’t cared what anyone thought of her or her actions for a while now, so she didn’t dwell on it.

Charlie’s deep voice brought her back to the present once he had had time to consider her suggestion. “OK,” he said. “I think that’s a good idea. Is it alright with you if I bring some clothes over before we go to Mum’s? I don’t exactly fancy flooing back into the cold hut to get dressed in the mornings…”

“Of course it is,” Hermione smiled, waving her wand to open the wardrobe door and then wrinkling her nose when she saw the contents. “Hmmm, that’s a bit full, though. I’ll ask the elves to bring you another one in; there’s plenty of room in here.”

Charlie nodded. “Thanks.”

“One thing in return, though?”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“You have to break the news to Crooks … I think he likes you better than me now!”

Charlie laughed, turning his head towards the animal, who he had brought with him last night and who was now, as usual, asleep against Charlie’s leg.

“Alright, though I bet we could make him some way of getting out the window if he wanted to without making you cold.”

“Like a cat flap?”

Having grown up in a magical family, Charlie had no idea what a cat flap was, so Hermione spent the next few minutes explaining.

“Yes,” he said, once he had understood. “That could be a brilliant project for my fifth year class. Something practical with a creature care application…” 

“It needs to have a heating charm around it for full marks, though,” Hermione warned, and he laughed, reaching for Hermione.

“Don’t I keep you warm enough, witch?” he growled into her ear as he wrapped his arms tightly around her pyjama-clad body. 

Hermione felt a rush of blood to her face and, more surprisingly, to other places which she hadn’t previously associated with Charlie. Well, that was new.

Nervously, she smiled up at him. “You keep me very warm, Charlie.” Not knowing what to say next, Hermione swallowed and wriggled out of his arms. “Breakfast?” she asked, a bit nervously. At some point, she might need to have a bit of a think about this. But not today. Today she needed to focus on finishing her second year transfiguration lesson plan before they left for lunch at The Burrow.


	5. Chapter 5

Ginny and Harry were the first to find out about Charlie and Hermione’s unusual sleeping arrangement, and it was thanks to the Marauders’ map. 

Ginny was enjoying her year of studying at a distance, mainly because it meant that she could spend the rest of her time with Harry and help get Grimmauld Place ready for them to move into after they were married. But it still involved coming to Hogwarts for a week of study once each half term and, although she enjoyed spending more time with Hermione, she and Harry were so in love that they could hardly bear to be apart for a whole week.

Which is why, one mid December evening, just a couple of days after they had celebrated Charlie’s birthday with a special Sunday dinner at The Burrow, Harry apparated to Hogsmeade and used the map to get in through one of Fred and George’s favourite secret passages so that he could spend the night with Ginny in the Room of Requirement.

He arrived there in the early evening and sat quietly on the large bed that was waiting for him in the room, watching people go about their business on the map. He spotted Ginny in the Great Hall and, while he waited for her to return from dinner, began to look for his other friends. He noted that Charlie was in Hermione’s rooms, and smiled to himself at the thought that she might be helping him with whatever the professors’ version of homework was. 

Harry later thought that perhaps he shouldn’t have pointed it out to Ginny, and not only because her natural, friendly nosiness meant that she would then watch the map all evening and into the night to see what happened, thus putting a slight damper on Harry’s desire to have Ginny’s full attention. But the deed was done, and Ginny’s research led to her lying in wait for her brother and her best friend after breakfast the next morning. Pulling them both by the hand into an empty corridor, she turned to face the confused pair with a big grin.

“So,” she said. “Mind telling me how, when Harry and I looked at the Marauders’ map last night, we saw your feet,” she gently poked Hermione, “and YOUR feet,” she poked Charlie, a bit harder, “all tangled up cosily in your bed?” She looked back at Hermione. “ALL night?”

Hermione looked at Charlie.

“What the fuck is the Marauders’ map?” he asked.

While Ginny explained, Hermione thought fast. She glanced at Charlie, knowing from their late night conversations that he didn’t really want everyone to know about his problem.

“There’s nothing like that going on,” said Hermione, when Ginny had finished. She supposed that they had done well to manage to not be found out for nearly three months. “But I’m suffering after the war. I have nightmares sometimes and I can’t sleep for being cold. Charlie cuddles me and it helps me sleep. It’s all very innocent, for which I am sorry,” she smiled at Ginny, “because I know you’d like a bit of gossip, but there’s none to see here.”

Charlie felt grateful that Hermione had made it all about her, though also a tad guilty that he hadn’t owned his part. But he wasn’t ready to take his brothers’ teasing on the subject. Not just yet, anyway.

Ginny looked from one to the other, deciding that they were telling the truth.

“Well, she hugged Charlie,” I’m very glad you’re helping Hermione. She deserves some help after everything she’s done.” Turning to go, a thought came to her and she turned back again. “Christmas!” she said.

“What about it?” Charlie asked.

“Well you’re both staying at Mum’s, aren’t you?”

“Yes...” Hermione, who had a habit of thinking ahead, had already been wondering how they would manage over the holidays, when they would be placed in different bedrooms under the watchful eye of a witch who was well used to ensuring that her children didn’t stray into the arms – or bedrooms – of their beloveds overnight. More to the point, Molly would be delighted at the idea of Charlie and Hermione being together, and even a sniff of them being more than friends might send her into a frenzy of matchmaking activities.

Charlie hadn’t given it a moment’s thought until then, but he turned to Hermione with wide, worried eyes once his sister mentioned it. He supposed he would have to just go all the way down the garden and light a fire again. Although it would be very cold in December, so maybe he would sit in his room with the lights on all night and then catch up during the day when he could. His response wasn’t missed by his sister, who immediately realised that there was more behind this arrangement than they were telling, but she decided to let it go, for now.

Hermione put her hand on his arm. “I had been thinking about this, but now that Ginny and Harry know … well there’s a much easier solution.

The first part of the solution was implemented on the morning of December 22nd, when Molly and Arthur went into Diagon Alley to do the last of their Christmas shopping. With Charlie drawing upon his experience of making Crookshanks’ cat flap with his fifth year students, he and Ginny made a trapdoor in the floor of Ginny’s room, which was above Charlie’s. They disillusioned it from both sides, ensuring that it could only be seen if the correct spell was applied, and covered it back up with Ginny’s rug.

The only other thing that was then needed was for Harry – who felt slightly guilty about this part of the plan, but only slightly, and his guilt was far outweighed for the gratitude he felt to Charlie for helping his friend – to make a small, half-joking fuss during dinner that evening about how much he was dreading having his sleep disrupted over the holidays by Ron’s snoring again. Which was then immediately followed, as previously choreographed by Ginny, by Charlie’s casual comment (through a mouthful of apple pie for added effect) that Harry was welcome to sleep in Bills’ old bed anytime it got too bad, adding that he himself was a quiet sleeper. Despite being convoluted, it somehow worked. Ginny, also as planned, then changed the subject to her upcoming wedding so that Molly would be distracted and Ron wouldn’t be able to make a scene, and it all went surprisingly well.

Other than alerting Fred and George, who had been attracted home early for the holidays by the news that Molly had already started baking, to the fact that Ginny was clearly trying to engineer herself into Harry’s bed, although they hadn’t yet worked out how. They knew that Hermione shared Ginny’s bedroom over the holidays, but it didn’t occur to them that, each evening, once they had all gone to bed and the rooms had been locked and silenced, a roommate swap would take place. Ginny and Hermione would open the trapdoor and Charlie would give Harry a leg up so that he could climb into Ginny’s room. Harry and Ginny would then lower Hermione down into Charlie’s waiting arms. After a whispered goodnight they would close the trapdoor, enlarge the beds, illuminate Charlie’s nightlights and settle down for sleep. 

In the mornings, the process would occur in reverse. Charlie would lift Hermione back up into Harry and Ginny’s arms and then temporarily move his bed under the trapdoor so that Harry – who considered himself too manly to be caught by his girlfriend’s brother – could land on it. They would disillusion the trapdoor, remove the other spells and wander out of the correct bedrooms ready for breakfast.

At which point Fred and George were guaranteed to wink at Ginny, hoping that this would help them figure out how she was doing it. They were confident, from the way in which she was calm and smiley, that she was spending nights with her beau; they just couldn’t see how, especially, as Fred had put it, “with Charlie and Hermione as babysitters.”

“They have to be in on it,” said George.

“Well why don’t you ask your mate Hermione?” Fred replied.

“I might,” George said, getting up off the sofa to head for the kitchen. But not just yet, he decided. He felt very tender towards Hermione and, for reasons that he didn’t even begin to understand, something told him to leave this one alone.

Molly noticed that something was going on over Christmas as well. There was an easy familiarity in the way that Charlie passed Hermione a glass of eggnog, putting a hand gently on her waist as he leaned towards her. She didn’t seem to notice his touch, he didn’t even look to check that she was taking the drink from him and that simple omission alerted Molly to the fact that they were more in tune with each other than she could have imagined.

Luckily for everyone, George noticed that Molly had noticed. He saw his mother’s eyes darting between the two of them and, as soon as he could without making it obvious, he went to stand behind his mother.

“Don’t meddle, mum, please…” he whispered in her ear, his long arms creeping around to give her a cuddle.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, George Weasley,” she replied, but her lips were curled into a smile. She was pleased that he had seen it too. Arthur never paid attention to such things and, of her children, Ginny, Bill and George were the only ones who ever noticed anything to do with relationships. 

“Hmmmmm,” he murmured. “Well, if there’s any part of you that likes the idea, then I would humbly suggest you don’t rush in and try to push them together.”

“Why’s that then? There’s clearly something there!” Molly’s whisper was louder than it should have been, thanks to the eggnog, but thanks to the sound of the rest of her family, no-one else heard.

“I think you might be right, but given everything we’ve all been through, don’t you think it might be best to give them time? They’re both a bit skittish, aren’t they? If we push,” oh and he was so proud of his use of the word ‘we’, thereby implying that he and Molly were planning this together and thus rendering her less able to act without consulting him, “then there’s a danger they’ll both turn and run away. They’ll figure it out themselves, if you ask me.”

“George Weasley,” Molly turned around slowly in her son’s long arms and pinched his cheek. “When did you get so wise?!”

George laughed. “I don’t know about that! You’ll ruin my reputation, Mum!”

Molly’s pinch changed to a pat. “I’m not surprised really. You always were my sensitive twin. Now when FRED Weasley starts making suggestions about their wedding china, that’s when I’ll be surprised!”

George leaned down with another laugh and pressed his face to his mum’s, ostensibly to give her a kiss, but the kiss masked a plea that he wanted to make straight into her ear. “Promise, Mum? Give them some time to figure it out themselves?”

Molly sighed. “Alright then, but only if you keep me posted. You’ll likely get wind of anything going on before I do, up there in Hogsmeade. So you had better pop in for tea now and again and keep me updated.”

He nodded and rolled his eyes. “Gods, they’re going to have to name their firstborn after me in recognition of all the effort I’m going to here!”

Molly’s eyes sparkled. “Oh wow, just imagine. Her brains and his looks…”

George took his mother’s hand firmly in his own and pulled her towards the other room. “Right, I think it’s time Teddy had a bit of grandmothering, and I don’t think you’ve stroked Fleur’s belly for at least an hour…”


	6. Chapter 6

“Mum’s onto you and Charlie, you know,” George said casually, as he and Hermione worked together in the back room of the Hogsmeade store, making bath oil and love potions ahead of Valentine’s day. It was mid-January and the road from Hogwarts was icy, so she had only agreed to floo over after George had promised hot chocolate and a nice lunch on top of her usual royalty agreement. She was worth it, though. This was the third or fourth product that she had developed for them, and she already had a knack for creating bestsellers.

Hermione almost dropped her wand when she heard his words. “What do you mean?” 

Her response didn’t quite gel with what he was expecting. “The way you have eyes for each other. Even I can see it, love. You like each other.” He began to sing softly in her ear. “Hermione and Charlie, sitting in a tree. K … I … S … S … I … N … G.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “That’s not it,” she sighed.

“Oh,” he said, leaning in closer. “Then what is it then? Come on, you can tell me? Or do you need some brotherly advice? Because when a witch loves a wizard, then it can be very special…”

“Oh, fuck off,” Hermione flicked an every flavour bean at him.

“Mmmmm, kiwi!” George announced, having picked it up off the bench and popped it into his mouth.

“George Weasley!” She was shocked. “That could have rolled in a potion or anything!”

He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll get a new product out of it, then?” He rolled it around a bit in his mouth, considering. “Nah; tastes normal. But don’t change the subject; love. Mum noticed something between you two at Christmas and is hounding me for details. I have to go and have a special tea date with her next week. It’s hard to put her off; can’t you just give me a tiny titbit of gossip to share?”

Hermione put her wand down, leaving her cauldron to bubble softly away. “It’s not that easy, George. It’s not really my stuff to tell. But we’re not seeing each other or anything. I’m sort of, well helping him with some stuff. And it helps me too. Can you be happy with that?”

George cocked his head, hoping for more. He had learned that, if he didn’t respond to Hermione, sometimes she would continue.

But Hermione was onto him, and she shook her head. “I’m not saying anything else. You could ask Charlie, but I don’t think he’ll react well, so be careful.”

“You’re worrying me now, love. Are you both OK? He put his own wand down and stood before her.”

“We’re fine, George.”

George took her chin in his hand. “Are you sleeping with my brother?”

Damn. The direct question, and he was looking right into her eyes. And this was the one Weasley who she could never lie to. They had promised each other that when they had grown close in Fred’s hospital room and George was worried that his family might be keeping a poor prognosis from him.

“Not in the way you think,” she whispered.

“Gods, Mum was right.” He spoke so softly that it was clear he was addressing himself. Then he moved closer, trying to figure it out by looking into her eyes. “You’re sleeping together, but not in a sexual way. Yet… So what is it, then? One or both of you has nightmares so you get in with each other sometimes? Oh…” His face became more tender at that thought.

“Something like that. Bingo, ding ding, you win. Now, can we please leave it there?”

“Only if I can ask one more question.”

She huffed. “Alright, but only one, and you have to promise me you won’t tell your mum any of this. I’m worried that Charlie will turn away from me and then he won’t have anyone to help him.”

George nodded, and gave her a quick hug. “Thank you for helping my brother, Hermione. But I have to ask, just because of the way you look when you talk about him … do you have feelings for Charlie?”

Hermione shook her head, She had finally found time to consider the response that she had had that one night, and she had decided that it was a normal physiological response to the proximity of a strong, virile male body. All down to her hormones. No reason to think it needed to be taken any further. “Not in the way you and your mum seem to want me to. I mean,” she rolled her eyes as his gaze didn’t budge, “clearly my body responds to his sometimes, but that’s just hormones. I read about it in the library.”

George thanked his lucky stars for all the practice he had had over the years in suppressing his laughter at inappropriate times. “How do you mean, love?” he asked, as innocently as he could manage.

“Well sometimes, when he holds me, he flirts a bit and it feels funny.” Oh, it sounded so lame when she said it out loud, and she groaned. “Gods, I sound like a bloody teenager, George. Can we talk about something else now?”

“Well technically,” he replied with a grin. “You are still a teenager, so I guess that’s OK.”

“You know what I mean though? I sound like Lavender and Parvati, mooning over boys.”

George looked shocked. “You could never sound like those two … seriously!”

“Well that’s good, but,” Hermione threw her head back and stretched out her body, which she hadn’t moved enough during her potion making, “sometimes I wonder what I’m going to do?”

“About Charlie?”

She nodded, adding another ingredient to her cauldron, and he continued.

“Well do you like him? In that way, I mean?”

“I don’t know, George.” She carefully stirred the potion with her wand, wondering if it was affecting her feelings. It was love potion, after all. “Not that I’m aware of. But sometimes my body seems to. It doesn’t understand that we’re just friends, and, well…”

“Well what?”

“It responds to him being close. To him holding me.” She put the lid on the cauldron and shook her head, as if doing those things would clear away the confusing thoughts that she was having about Charlie Weasley. “No,” she said firmly. “We’re just friends, and that’s how it needs to stay. I need to concentrate on my studying, anyway, and then when I’ve got all my NEWTS I want to travel a bit. It’s not the right time for me to get into anything serious.”

“Get into something casual then?!” George replied with a wink. “This is Charlie we’re talking about! He’s not exactly done much ‘serious’ in the past, you know…”

Hermione nodded. “Maybe,” she said slowly. “I’ll give it some more thought.” Pushing the cauldron back slightly, she said, “right, I’m done. That needs to cool and then it’s ready for bottling. I’ve written the recipe in the book so you and Fred can make a few more batches this week if you want. And Hannah said she’s happy to test it if you drop a bottle over to her. So where are you taking me for my nice lunch?” and George realised with some amusement that she had drawn a very clear line under that topic of conversation for the day.

But thinking time was hard to come by for Hermione, who was still dividing her days and evenings between her own study and the teaching of others. She had heard just after Christmas that she had passed three of her NEWTS with flying colours and an ‘Outstanding’ result in each. That spurred her on to decide to take her potions, herbology and history of magic NEWTS this term as well as continuing to teach the first and second-year transfiguration students and helping in the shop. Which wasn’t entirely altruistic, she told them, because the work she was doing for the twins also enabled her to practice her potion making. Hermione loved being immersed in knowledge, but, more evenings than not, Charlie would find himself gently removing a book from her hands once she had fallen asleep in bed, as he ensured that her wand was safely on her bedside table and their shared quilt tucked around her body to ensure her warmth. 

One Sunday evening in early February, Charlie had casually reached out and rubbed her shoulders as he walked past her desk, where she was poring over her potions textbook. He exclaimed when he felt the tension in her small body. “Bloody hell, Hermione! Your shoulders are so tense!” He kept his fingers in place, digging in gently as she rolled them backwards and stretched her neck from side to side, grateful for the reminder to move.

“I know,” she sighed. “I keep thinking I should get into yoga or something, but there never seems to be time…” She stretched out her arms.

Charlie didn’t know what yoga was, but he and his fellow dragon keepers were well practised in helping each other work out the knots that they would get from their work. “Put that quill down and hop on the bed, love. You’ve been at it for hours anyway; I can’t believe you can fit anything else into your head. If you take some layers off,” he touched her jumper, “I’ll give you a massage.”

Hermione blushed a little, but as he was very matter of fact about it, already looking around for some kind of ointment or oil to use, she couldn’t think of anything more beneficial than having someone with hands as strong as Charlie’s work out her stress, so she nodded, closed her book and moved towards the bed.

But for a coincidence of timing, the massage might have remained wholly innocent. But as Hermione sat down on the bed and removed her jumper, shirt and leggings – for they slept in the equivalent of their underwear, so that wasn’t a new state of dress between the two friends – Charlie spotted something that looked like massage oil on her dresser, which he summoned with his wand. Once she had folded the quilt down so it just covered her bottom half and lay on her front on the soft sheets, Hermione reached behind her, unclipping and then wriggling out of her bra to give Charlie better access to her back. He wouldn’t be able to see anything anyway, as long as she stayed on her front.

“Ooooh, that smells lovely,” she said, making a noise of pleasure and contentment as he tipped a generous slug of the fragrant oil into his cupped hand and then began to spread it across Hermione’s back and shoulders. “What is it?”

Charlie looked in surprise at the blue glass bottle. “I thought it was yours?”

She went to lift her head very slightly to look, but decided it was too great an effort and rested her cheek back on the pillow instead. “Was it on my dresser?”

“Yep.”

“It’s a new Wheezes product, for Valentine’s day. You can use it in the bath too, but I’ve not tried it myself yet.”

“Nice…” Charlie leaned forward to rub the oil further into her aching upped back with the heels of his hands. Hermione gave another small moan of pleasure and the conversation ceased as they both concentrated on the massage. 

Weeks later, Hermione would discover that George had put a few drops of the love potion that she had invented into the massage oil; not out of malice or with any conscious thought of intervening. It was more of an absent-minded, ‘hey this could be interesting and it might help my friend relax’ decision that he happened to forget to mention to Hermione. 

And the love potion itself wasn’t particularly strong. Partly because Hermione would only agree to make and create potions which had no chance of interfering with the free will of whoever took them. No, this potion merely relaxed those who smelled it and increased the confidence of those in its vicinity, making any existing feelings more likely to be acted upon. But it turned out that its potency increased the longer one was exposed to it.

Which was why Charlie’s massage became more intimate as it continued, and why Hermione’s response to his massage – both verbal and physical – became more and more encouraging. 

It happened slowly, for the dragon keeper was nothing if not patient in administering this kind of comfort. First, Hermione’s arching response to his gentle stroking of her sides led to him reaching further and further underneath her, in time with her mewls of pleasure, until the tips of his fingers stroked against her nipples. If she was disappointed when he moved his hands back to the centre of her back after a few repetitions of that pleasurable movement, her disappointment didn’t last for long. For Charlie then began to work on her lower back. And his hands, again encouraged by her soft moans of delight, strayed lower and lower until he finally moved his fingertips just inside the top of her knickers and then, more daringly, strayed completely inside her knickers to firmly cup and massage the globes of her bottom with his large hands, eliciting a long, sensual moan from the witch.

“Wait,” Hermione breathed, and Charlie thought she was going to stop him, which would have been embarrassing given that she would see how hard he had become while touching her, but then she surprised him by kicking the quilt further off her and then wriggling her knickers over her hips and down her legs until she could flick them onto the floor with one foot and give him better access to her body. He tried not to look between her legs as she did this, not realising that she was giving him a glance of her lovely pussy, but the temptation was too much to resist. 

Hermione lay back down and, encouraged by her response and turned on beyond belief, Charlie stopped holding back. He slowly massaged her bottom and hips, taking an achingly long time to slither his hands between her legs and over her inner thighs every now and again, reaching just slightly further towards her core after each few strokes. Without even realising she was doing it, Hermione parted her legs and tipped her pelvis slightly, giving him better access to the place that she really wanted his fingers.

Charlie smiled as his hands crept closer to the part of her body they most desired to touch. This felt like an invitation, but he wanted to check. He leaned over Hermione, fingers still maintaining his stroking of her inner thighs, until he could whisper softly into her ear. “Would you like me to make you feel really good, Hermione? Can I massage your pussy for you too?”

“Oh Gods, yes, Charlie,” she breathed. “Please…”

“Alright love, you just keep relaxing…”

Having gained her consent, Charlie didn’t immediately speed up, instead continuing his languorous advance between her legs until he could feel Hermione’s own wetness as well as that of the oil. He reached between her legs and slowly pushed his fingertips across the closed slit of her outer lips, causing her to spread her legs wider. After a few teasing strokes back and forth with his finger, Charlie adjusted his own position, coming to lay close beside her as his hand spread wide to cup her pussy in the palm of his hand. Hermione gasped at the feel of him holding her in that way, and Charlie whispered words of relaxation into her ear as he lay his body against her side. His other hand reached to cup her bottom and she felt so completely held; it was like nothing she had ever experienced.

Charlie was reaching further into her now, and his middle finger gently breached her lips and ran along the centre of her, causing the little witch to start panting as he ran his fingertip up over her clit and then back down again. He slipped his thumb slightly inside her pussy before repeating the movement, still cupping her bottom with his other hand. 

Hermione called out his name, in a tone of voice that he had never heard her use before. Realising that she was close to the edge, Charlie began to murmur soft words of reassurance, keeping his fingers moving on and in her. Soon, Hermione began to keen with the first orgasm that she had ever experienced with a man, and Charlie found that he was unconsciously rocking her body with his own, wanting to prolong her pleasure as much as he could. This was possibly the most fun that he had ever had while making a woman come, and he had a horrible feeling that he could become addicted to the sounds that she made under his fingers. He was as hard as rock and, if she just said the word, he would stroke his cock inside her and finish her massage internally. He’d let her come down from her orgasm first though, and see if she wanted more.

It took a good minute for Hermione’s breathing to fully slow and for her to turn around in Charlie’s arms, not caring that doing so meant that her nakedness was fully on display to him. He reached for the quilt and pulled it up over them though, as much to maintain her post-orgasmic warmth as her modesty. “Gods, Charlie, that was amazing. Thank you. I had no idea I could feel so good…”

Charlie’s breath caught in his throat. Surely not? Had all her previous lovers been that bad? Then a thought hit the pit of his stomach. “What do you mean, love?”

She smiled. “I never knew an orgasm with a man would feel so different from one I gave myself … it was gorgeous. I guess there are some things you can’t learn from books.” She reached out to slip her hand up his tee shirt and stroke his chest.

Charlie’s heart began to beat more quickly. It truly hadn’t occurred to him that she might be totally innocent when it came to sex. It had crossed his mind that Hermione might still technically be a virgin, but she was so mature in every other dimension that he wouldn’t have put any amount of money on it. But if that was her first orgasm with someone else...

Fuck. 

His mother was going to kill him. Unless Harry or George reached him first.

Hermione had no idea that his thoughts were churning so much. “Make love to me?” she asked, her pupils wide and her breath still ragged as she gazed into Charlie’s blue eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

“Make love to me?” Hermione had asked, her pupils wide and her breath ragged.

Charlie was still recovering from the realisation that she was untouched. He had been so ready to slide his cock into her without realising that he would be her first. He was beating himself up for not thinking more carefully. Hermione was so mature, so intelligent, so much his equal in every other way that he sometimes forgot about their age and life experience gap.

“Is it love you want, koroleva, or sex?” 

There was a pause before he continued.

“Because both are good, you know, but they’re different. And it’s important to know, I think, which is which.” He was holding her gently under their shared quilt and stroking her arm with strong fingers.

Of course, Hermione thought. She shouldn’t have phrased her request that way. This is Charlie Weasley; the wizard who doesn’t want to settle down. But before she could open her mouth to say anything, Charlie moved his fingers and touched them to her lips.

“Don’t answer now, love. Take some time to think. I’m not going anywhere. But I don’t want to do anything tonight. You’re too important to me, to my family, for me to just take you without making sure you know what you want. And…”

He never managed to finish his next sentence. His sentiment was intended to be loving and kind, but Hermione had only heard one word.

“Take me? TAKE me? Like I’m something to be owned? Had? Consumed!”

Charlie chuckled, and brought her closer to his chest. “You know I don’t think about women in that way, koroleva, but some witches like that phrase … I’m sorry. I won’t use it again.”

Hermione huffed. It annoyed her a bit when he was so … well, accommodating. But she had wanted to rant about this for a while, so she continued anyway.

“Why is it that, even in this modern world, a woman’s virginity is seen as a bigger deal than a man’s, like it’s some sort of prize? I bet you didn’t hesitate your first time. I bet the lucky witch didn’t say, ‘Oh, but are you sure you want to give it to me, Charlie? You’ll not be able to get it back again…’”

Charlie wanted to protest that that wasn’t what he had meant at all, and that his real concern was what was in that oil that he had used. Now that Hermione was covered by the quilt and he couldn’t smell it so much, he was certain that it was some kind of aphrodisiac potion. He was going to be having words with George. But he couldn’t even work out how to get a word in with Hermione right now, so he decided to just lay back and allow her to continue. He loved watching her in this state, anyway. And he didn’t disagree with a word that she was saying, but it was clear that she needed to say them to someone, so he was happy to listen on behalf of the rest of the universe.

“Why is it that we have retained these old-fashioned, sexist notions that hark back to times when a woman was valued for her body and her supposed purity and not for her mind or character or for who she was as a person?!” Charlie hummed in agreement as he continued to cuddle her. “Why should it be seen as a source of shame in some cultures that a woman has had sex when it’s a source of pride for men? Why can’t women enjoy their bodies and their sexuality to the same extent that men can without being judged, even subtly, and made to feel that their virginity is a prize? That they have ‘lost’ something once they’ve had sex? Or that they have to wait for ‘the one’ before they explore their body sexually? Why is that, Charlie? Why IS that?” She tried to sit up a bit, despite her nakedness, but it was difficult when she was held so snugly and comfortably in his arms.

“I don’t know, love, but I agree it’s an unacceptable double standard.”

That stopped Hermione in her tracks. That was the kind of answer that George would give. Usually, Fred or Ron would argue back, though not necessarily because they disagreed with her. Fred just liked to rile her up and would argue that day was night if it meant he got to watch the colour rise in her cheeks and the sparks fly from her hair. With Ron, it was more often a lack of understanding and his own frustration at not being able to form and articulate his own thoughts in the face of Hermione’s wit and sharp thinking. She hadn’t fully realised, until that moment, that Charlie was so like George in that way: more easy going; open minded; compassionate and keen to understand the other person’s view.

“Well it’s not OK,” she said, laying back down beside Charlie.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed again, taking her back in his arms and snuggling her against his chest. “And for the record, love, I’d love to do more with you, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. That was bloody lovely. But there’s something in that oil, I’m sure.” He kissed her temple. “You’re gorgeous, and it’s nothing to do with experience or gender. We’re family, Hermione, and we’re going to be family for a long time to come, so we don’t want to do anything to interfere with that.”

Hermione couldn’t really argue with him about the oil. She was also planning to have words with George Weasley. And as much as she believed everything she said, she didn’t want the lasting memory of her first sexual experience to be of her stomping out of her own room and then lying awake feeling cold and guilty all night because she had left Charlie alone. “Well, alright,” Her voice softened. “And thank you. That was very lovely, and I do feel much more relaxed now.” 

She swallowed as hot tears pricked her eyes, their arrival surprising her. Hermione allowed a few to drop onto the pillow, doing everything she could to prevent Charlie from knowing that she was crying, but the soporific combination of the massage oil and the orgasm and the comfort of being in Charlie’s arms meant that she had barely begun to wonder what was causing them before she fell asleep.

During the free period that she spent alone in her transfiguration classroom the next morning, Hermione did nothing but think about what Charlie had said. She thought back to what she knew about him from his brothers; he was more interested in animals than people but had an eye for women and was allegedly relatively experienced in that department. According to George and Fred, he had had a good number of casual relationships but had never brought a girlfriend home.

It was possible, she reasoned, that he had had girlfriends but simply chose not to parade them around at The Burrow, where there was always the danger that Molly would find some way to exercise her desire for settled children, who might make her some grandchildren to dote upon. But Charlie and his brothers were close, and they were united enough in their efforts to keep some aspects of their lives to themselves that Hermione imagined that he would have told them. And she was friendly enough with several of his brothers that it would have been surprising if she had not heard of a girlfriend.

Hermione reached for another of the sugar quills that George had also sent her for valentine’s day, as her reasoning continued. While Charlie had told Hermione to consider whether she wanted love or sex, she doubted that he was putting both of those options on the table for her to pick from. No, his message was clear. He was wanting to make sure that she knew that anything further between them would only be about sex. And, caring older brother (though luckily not to her) that he was, he wanted to make sure that Hermione would be happy with a purely sexual relationship.

Friends with benefits. She couldn’t remember where she had heard that phrase, but it summed up what he was talking about. Well yes, she decided. She could confine herself to sex with Charlie and close down any other possibilities, she thought. It’s not like she was looking for a relationship. Relationships were great for some people. Neville and Hannah, for instance, were very cute and all, but neither of them had quite the same level of ambition as Hermione. They’d be happy to settle into a routine between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade and stay that way for decades. Hermione wasn’t sure that was the right path for her, though. There would be plenty of time for relationships later. Who knows what she might want to do when she reached the end of this year? While a part of her liked the idea of keeping a base at Hogwarts, especially with her parents in Australia, she also had a desire to travel; to see other cultures and meet new people. She wanted experience. 

And with Charlie, she could get experience in an important area, with a man who she knew would be tender and who would take care of her. Charlie wouldn’t hurt her, and he would take his time. And, although it made her blush slightly to think of it, she could tell from the way he touched her during that massage that he was really good. Yes, far better to learn from an experienced older wizard like Charlie than to fumble around with someone of her own age who had no more idea of what they were doing than she did.

By the time she opened her door that evening, Hermione had fully made up her mind. Dropping her bag to the floor, she walked towards the redheaded wizard who was laying on her sofa with Crookshanks on his lap. She knelt down in front of him and placed her hand on his chest, touching his muscles in what she hoped was a seductive fashion.

“I’ve thought about it all day, and I’ve decided, Charlie. It’s sex I want. No strings. Friends with benefits; whatever you want to call it. Are you up for that?”

Charlie turned to look straight at her and she almost flinched when she saw a darkness to his blue eyes that wasn’t usually there. 

His voice was husky and his words were slow as he replied. “I’m sorry love. You’re gorgeous, but I’ve been thinking about it all day too, and I don’t think it’s a good idea…” 

His stomach fell as he saw her face. “Right then,” she said, needing to move away quickly so she wouldn’t see how hurt she was by his rejection. “Cup of tea?”

Charlie winced. “Love…” He reached for her hand, wanting to pull her onto his lap and kiss the sadness from her face, but Hermione pulled away as if she hadn’t heard him and went to the tiny kitchenette. She opened the fridge and huffed at the contents, pretending it needed some sorting out, which gave her an excuse to sit in front of it and allow a few embarrassed and slightly humiliated tears to fall onto her face before she reached into her robes pocket for a hanky to wipe them away.

He sat, unmoving, on the sofa, wondering how he had fucked that up so much, and so quickly. What he should have said was that, actually, he had thought about it all day as well. Charlie had thought about it so much that one of the nifflers had escaped his lesson and he had been called by Minerva to the main school, where the little creature had been found trying to get away with several of the quidditch trophies, much to the delight of the third year Hufflepuffs. He had thought about it as he strode through the forest, needing to expend some energy and then coming to a halt as he had nearly walked straight into one of his favourite centaurs. 

“Wow, Charlie, you’re distracted today. Anyone might think you were in love,” Firenze had said, never one for beating about the bush.

And in that moment, Charlie realised that that was exactly what he was. He had somehow, completely by accident, fallen in love with the witch who had been sharing his bed for nearly half a year. But then she was kneeling in front of him, telling him she only wanted sex, which was so incredibly ironic, because that had been his thing for so long. But not any more. The war had changed something in him. He wasn’t quite ready for a pipe and a toolshed, like his dad, but his need to roam wasn’t as great as it once had been, and he liked the idea of at least beginning the process of settling down and maybe creating a family of his own. 

As Charlie watched Hermione tidy their fridge, he knew that the decision that he had made was the right one, however hard it was to say no to her right now. If he wanted to feel able to pursue her and see if she was open to something more one day, he needed to work out how to get over his fear of the dark. If ever she became open to something more than a fling, he wanted her to spend the night with him not because she wanted to comfort and protect him as a friend, but because she wanted to be with him as an independent man, who wasn’t scared to sleep in the dark in his own hut if the occasion called for it, thank you very much.

It was time to get some help.


	8. Chapter 8

That night, bedtime was a bit awkward, but a bit of awkwardness wasn’t going to stop Hermione from giving Charlie the care she felt he needed. And if she was surprised when he asked her how he could contact the mind healer who she had once mentioned might be able to help him with his fear, she managed not to show it. Her cheeks warmed a little when she realised that this might be because he wanted to cease their sleeping arrangement. Gods, had she put him off that much by suggesting sex? 

Pushing that thought down, Hermione promised to give him the woman’s contact details in the morning. She was slightly confused when Charlie wrapped his arms around her just as enthusiastically and tenderly as usual, bringing her close to his body for warmth. She was even more confused when he placed his usual gentle kiss on her cheek and then an extra one in her curls as he wished her a good night with soft words, but she decided he was probably feeling bad and wanting to compensate by pretending an affection that he didn’t really feel. 

The very next day, Charlie went to visit Minerva to let her know he was planning to leave the school grounds every so often in order to see a healer. She was very pleased that he was taking this step and offered to make timetable changes if necessary. But Carrie, the mind healer who had helped Hermione’s parents when they had come to St Mungo’s for a couple of weeks before deciding to return to Australia and resume their life there (on the agreement that Hermione would visit at least once a year) was very happy to fit around Charlie’s schedule. 

He didn’t know what would happen when he flooed to her house, but had assumed that he would be expected to talk about his feelings a lot. So Charlie was pleasantly surprised when Carrie seemed just as interested in exploring things like relaxation and that yoga which Hermione was so fond of saying she wanted to do. He smiled at the thought of learning it first and being able to share it with her. Carrie taught him about the physiology of stress (which he thought his mum might benefit from knowing about as well), he learned how to stimulate his vagal nerve (which he hadn’t previously known existed) and, as Carrie was married to a wizard and thus knew all about magic, she was also able to share some little-known relaxation charms that might be helpful. But because Carrie didn’t do magic herself, she showed him a video of her husband demonstrating the charms, which Charlie was fascinated by. It was the first time he had seen a TV, and he planned to ask Hermione about them at his earliest opportunity.

“So really,” Carrie told him at the end of their first session, “I think the best approach might be for you to spend a few weeks practising these things when you can. No pressure! And then we’ll slowly start introducing you to some elements of what it is that bothers you, and see how you go. Don’t think about that or worry about it for now; just concentrate on learning the positive things that you can control first. How does that sound, Charlie?”

It actually sounded really good. And much less daunting than he had feared. His first thought, on stepping into the floo after giving Carrie a relieved hug of thanks as he said farewell and promised to return at the same time the following week, was that he couldn’t wait to tell Hermione. His stomach flipped, not because of the floo travel, but because he realised that his feelings towards the curly-haired witch who shared his bed were growing even stronger, if such a thing were possible.

As winter melted into spring and spring blossomed into the promise of an early summer, Charlie practised everything that Carrie suggested, and even taught some of it to Hermione. They did deep breathing on the grass and in bed at night, and she finally got to do some regular yoga practice, only to find herself annoyed that Charlie perfected a headstand after just a couple of weeks when she had never managed to achieve any kind of balance before toppling over onto her mat. Worse than the frustration of not being able to do the move was the way that Charlie chuckled good-naturedly at her frustration and then used his large hands to help her into the appropriate position, resting his own body against hers so that she could hold herself in place against his legs and chest until she learned how to balance through it herself.

Charlie deliberately stayed far away from any further discussion of feelings or sex, and sought to be the perfect elder brother to Hermione, although that wasn’t his long-term goal. He helped her study, celebrated when she passed each of her next three NEWTS or created a new Wheezes product and strode to the kitchens to enlist the elves’ help in preparing picnic baskets to tempt her with when he thought she was working too hard. 

Both of them had fully intended to have strong words with George about the doctored massage oil but, in the end, neither actually said anything, which drove George crazy and provided a much more effective punishment for his actions than any amount of hexes would have done. For different reasons, they didn’t want to have the conversation with him that they knew would follow. Far better, they each thought, to let him stew in his own curiosity, though that didn’t stop him from watching and wondering and talking to Fred and Molly about the nature of their relationship as the days grew longer. Whenever he raised the topic of his elder brother with Hermione, however, she would smile and answer politely but not give any more away than she had done that day while making the love potion. George realised that, if he was going to get anywhere with that conversation, he might need to lubricate it somehow. But he was patient and knew how to bide his time.

Over breakfast on the morning of the spring equinox, Charlie had asked Hermione to join him outside that evening for a special test of his progress. He wanted to sit outside, away from his fire, as the sky darkened, and see if he could use all his new learning to stay calm. It wouldn’t be pitch dark, as it was also a full moon, but that was even better as it gave him the advantage of the magical significance of the juxtaposition of the solar and lunar calendars, which he felt would give him additional strength and make him more likely to succeed. It felt like a new beginning, and Hermione was happy for him.

“Shall I bring champagne?” she asked happily, as she selected another piece of bacon before Neville got there and took it all. “So we can celebrate your progress?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Carrie said not to have any alcohol before or during the process, however tempting it might be, because it might affect my ability to stay calm.”

Hermione nodded, realising that she was right. And all the better if Charlie could do it without the need for Dutch courage. He was a Gryffindor, after all, and she knew he would feel great if he could finally overcome his fear. That didn’t mean she couldn’t slip something in the fridge for when they got back, though.

“Right then,” she said, sounding a little bit like Molly did when she was planning a special dinner. “Hot chocolate and cauldron cake it is. I’ll nip back to the room and talk to Lissy before I go to my first class. We’re only doing revision of spells they’ve learned anyway, so I don’t need to prepare.”

“How’s the teaching going?” Charlie asked. “We’ve not talked about it for a while.”

“I love it,” Hermione told him. “And I’d love to keep doing it, but I also want to travel, and I’m not sure how I can do both at once.”

“The holidays are good though?” Charlie replied, seeing Neville enter the hall and making his own survey of what else he needed on his plate. Neville’s appetite seemed to be increasing in direct proportion with his love for Hannah, and they hadn’t quite worked out how or why that had happened. It delighted Molly though, and she had invited the two of them to join them for Sunday lunch a couple of times recently when she realised how little family of their own they both had.

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, “and maybe that will be enough.” She smiled at him. “I’ll have to see.” She had enough trouble working out how she felt about things these days, so there was little chance she could elucidate it in conversation. Some of the time, she felt an almost desperate urge to stride out of Hogwarts’ gates at the end of the year and go and see the rest of the world, and at other times (admittedly, more often than not, when she was in Charlie’s arms, although she barely acknowledged that even to herself) she loved the idea of settling into the rhythm of a teaching job and creating a home of her own. She loved the rituals and routines that she and Charlie had fallen into, and she spent all of that day looking forward to the evening that she would spend with him.

After an early dinner, they went to Hermione’s rooms so that she could put on some warmer clothes, for she had been inside the castle all day. When she was happy with her outfit, Charlie picked up the picnic basket that Lissy had left on the table, calling a thank you to the little elf who he was sure was watching from a nearby hiding place. They flooed to his hut – to avoid any questions about what they were doing – and he picked up a few thick blankets so that they wouldn’t get cold on the grass.

“We can do warming and drying charms, you know,” Hermione told him.

“I know,” he shrugged. “But I kind of like doing things the muggle way now and again. I think you’ve rubbed off on me a bit!”

Hermione felt a rush of pleasure at the fact that they had managed to get past the awkwardness of what she thought of as the valentine’s incident, and she took Charlie’s hand, hoping this far on that he wouldn’t misinterpret the gesture. He closed his fingers around her own, happy for the comfort and contact as the walked slowly to the Black Lake, where they had decided to set up their camp. 

The idea wasn’t that Charlie would manage this alone, at least not the first time. He wanted to see if he could cope with being outside at night with just the light of the full moon and not his fire or nightlights. That was something he hadn’t been able to do since the war.

“What do you need from me?” Hermione asked as he spread several blankets out on top of each other, placing the basket near the edge. 

“One sec,” he said, as he picked up a pebble, tossed it in the air and then transfigured it into a giant sausage-shaped pillow for them to rest their backs against as it fell back onto the blanket.

“Oh, very smooth,” Hermione smiled. “You’ve done that before, haven’t you?”

Charlie was glad she couldn’t see the traditional Weasley blush rush to his cheeks. He had, indeed, used that very move as part of his witch seduction routine, but he had done it out of habit and not because he had anything of that nature in mind for the evening. He would be happy if he managed to breathe through the semi-darkness, he thought, as the light reduced by another notch.

“Never you mind that,” he said, pulling her down beside him and putting his arm out on the pillow so that Hermione could snuggle into his side. They had shared a bed for so long, and he was so used to her needing warmth, that it felt odd to them to sit or lie near each other without cuddling. A fact that had not been missed by the Weasley family when they had ended up sitting next to each other on the sofa after Sunday dinner three weeks ago and Charlie had casually and absentmindedly pulled Hermione into his side as he sat down to chat to Bill. She had tucked her legs up beside her and nestled into him, putting her free hand on his thigh and absent-mindedly stroking him with her thumb without even lifting her eyes from the book she was reading.

“Comfy?” he asked, and Hermione nodded. The light notched down another level, and Charlie took a deep breath.

“You’re doing really well, Charlie. I’m so proud of you.” And she was. She so admired the way he had dealt with his fear, even though he had been reluctant to seek help when she first made the suggestion.

“You’re beautiful,” he told her, turning to look at his friend. “Thank you for the care you’ve showed me over the past half year.” He leaned forward to press a long kiss on Hermione’s temple and her breath caught. This felt strange. It was like a goodbye, though also a beginning, and she was confused by it. She was glad that Charlie was moving on and dealing with his fear, but she couldn’t help but feel sad at the thought that one day he would no longer need him to sleep with her. She had become used to snuggling up in his arms each night, to chatting with him if they woke in the early hours and to waking up with him and spending the first minutes of each day together. 

But she didn’t need to worry, for Charlie wasn’t ready to leave her bed just yet. Although he coped well, he held her hand very tightly as they walked back across the grounds once the darkness had fully fallen and, when he asked how she felt about them sleeping in his hut that night rather than taking the longer walk back to her own rooms, Hermione readily agreed. He needed light, she knew, and soon. He had managed brilliantly for his first time out, but Rome wasn’t built in a day and it was clear that he needed to do this over time.

“You did so well,” she said, as she walked into the hut ahead of him and quickly lit a few of their nightlights, wanting Charlie to have the immediate comfort of the blue glow without feeling that he was failing. She felt his breathing relax even more, and she pulled a couple of single shot bottles of firewhisky out of the pocket of her robes. “I think you deserve this now,” she said, handing one to Charlie and clinking her bottle to his before unscrewing the top and then downing the fiery drink.

“Cheers, love,” he said, knocking his own back as he sat down on the bed to remove his boots. “You’re the best.”

They next morning, at Charlie’s suggestion, they moved back out to his hut full time, much to Crookshanks’ delight. The evenings were pulling out again and Charlie enjoyed the fresh air. It was almost too fresh for Hermione those first couple of weeks, but she knew that Charlie was spurred on by his success on the equinox and wanted to test himself by remaining outside for longer each night at dusk, but with the knowledge that she was close by if he needed her. So she simply went back to wearing George’s old quidditch sweater over her pyjamas and snuggling a bit closer to Charlie at night.

George himself had long stopped complaining about having tea with Molly every few weeks. He actually rather enjoyed spending time alone with his mum, who was much more fun now that she was released from the stress of having to look after seven children and a few other stragglers. She was no less obsessed with the observation of how one of her favourite stragglers was doing with her second eldest son, but Molly’s patience had been extended with the realisation that, the longer they took to get together, the more time she would get to enjoy having George’s company. And George found that he was happy to chat with his mum at length about his own relationship with Angelina, which Molly enjoyed. None of her other sons wanted to do that, and George was rewarded for his openness with a different kind of cake each time he visited.

Both Molly and her younger twin son had become convinced that it was only a matter of time as far as Charlie and Hermione were concerned, especially once they had both observed what Fred had gleefully named ‘sofagate’, having coined the term after one of his long chats with Hermione. Excited at this development, which the couple seemed not to have been aware of themselves, Molly and George had opened a book amongst their family members so they could all bet on exactly when the two would get together. Sunday dinners were often punctuated by whispered conversations in the kitchen as the entire Weasley family had become aware that something was going on between Charlie and Hermione but, as they had all faithfully sworn not to interfere in order to try and win the bet, the two didn’t get hassled as much as they might have without the betting.

As the bookmaker and best friend of (in his mother’s words) the bride-to-be, however, George was certain that the rule of non-interference didn’t apply to him. Which was why he began to bring up the subject of Charlie more frequently when he and Hermione were alone, although she continued to resist his questions and steer the conversation in the direction of her growing plans to travel the world. Hermione was proud of Charlie’s progress, but each step he took in the direction of his own night-time independence led her to spend more time thinking about how important it was for her to create a life based around what she wanted; exploration and experience.

So George listened to her stories of the places she wanted to go, and the things she wanted to see. He made the appropriate noises when she talked of wanting to gain experience of a different nature once she had left Hogwarts and refrained from pointing out that her face never looked as happy when she talked about the possibility of meeting new people on her travels as it did when he asked how Charlie was. He held back because he knew she didn’t talk to anyone else like this and because he assumed that, one day, she would no longer be able to maintain her silence on the matter. She would, he imagined, break into a huge grin and confess that, yes, she was crazy about Charlie Weasley. When that happened, George would crack open a bottle of wine or they would run to her favourite tea shop and squish into the sofa together and make a plan for his brother’s seduction.

George managed to maintain this patient approach all the way through April and May, as Hermione finished all her exams and life became less busy. He managed to hold back even when she began to spend more time inventing in the shop, telling them that she needed to save up for her adventures. He held back for nearly a whole season, as the days lengthened and the world bloomed, until one evening in June when, with Fred’s help, George forgot to hold back, and everything changed again; this time for good.


	9. Chapter 9

George and Fred were a bit sad to miss the June Gryffindor-Slytherin quidditch game, which Charlie was refereeing as a favour to Madame Hooch, but the fact that their absence was caused by the need to restock the store due to the overwhelming success of their products did serve to soften the blow a little. Hermione had, as she had promised them she would earlier in the week now that she had passed all her NEWTS, given them a few hours of her time and potion-making skill in the workshop that afternoon, and they insisted on rewarding her with take-away dinner and muggle wine in their flat on top of her usual royalty payment.

They had chosen Chinese food and Hermione had directed them to a nicely chilled sauvignon blanc which they had all enjoyed. Settling back onto the soft sofas after the meal, Fred broke open a fortune cookie.

“You will come into money soon,” he read. “Do you think that means literally, like a sexual thing, or…” The cushion that Hermione had aimed laughingly in his direction ensured that they didn’t have to hear the other options.

“Probably accurate, though,” said George. “When we open the doors next Hogsmeade weekend, I think we’ll probably do our best takings of the year, especially with the weather getting out and us launching more outdoor products.”

“Your mum must be so proud now,” Hermione reflected, and George laughed.

“Much more so than she’d probably like to admit!”

Fred leaned forward and tossed the other two fortune cookies to George and Hermione. 

George opened his first, pushing half of the orangey biscuit into his mouth while he unfurled the paper.

“Gods, I don’t know how you can eat those,” Hermione laughed. She broke her cookie open, slipped the tiny fortune onto her lap and gave half to each of the twins, who immediately threw them into their mouths with identical grins. “Go on then, what does it say?”

“Lucky numbers 8, 13, 19, 27, 38 and 42. That’s shit,” said George, disappointedly. “It doesn’t tell me anything interesting!”

Fred laughed loudly. “Only fair; I got one of those last time. OK, Hermione, let’s hear yours now.”

“Mine is also rubbish,” said Hermione, having read it while they were eating their halves of her cookie. “It said, ‘You are destined for love with someone already close to you’. Well that’s clearly not true, as I’m not looking for love right now.”

George and Fred sneaked a glance at each other. They had had several conversations about Charlie and Hermione of late and had agreed that George had been patient for long enough and that they would look for an opportunity to see if they could help things along. As far as the twins could see, Hermione and Charlie were both nuts about each other, but just needed a teensy push in the right direction to make things official.

“How come, love?” Fred asked gently. He hadn’t been party to all of the conversations that George had.

“I’m too young,” said Hermione. “And you know I want to travel ... I have the whole world out there to explore. I can’t just go and settle down with the first wizard I see, can I?”

“Oh, why not?” They were both deliberately keeping their questions and expressions soft and gentle, so as not to arouse the witch into feeling that she was being challenged.

“Well the times are changing, boys. Women can sow some wild oats too, if they want, and that’s what I plan to do. How will I know what I want in a man unless I spend time with some different wizards?” 

“So you’re a young witch wanting to play the field and explore her sexuality then?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, something like that.”

“OK, that makes sense.” George glanced at his brother and then back at Hermione. “Truth or dare?”

“Excuse me?” It wasn’t that Hermione wasn’t aware of the game. She just hadn’t known they were playing it at that moment.

“Truth or dare?” George repeated.

“Well I just told you a truth, so I’ll try a dare, I suppose. Just don’t make it too unseemly, with me being a semi-professor now…”

“Kiss Freddie.” George only half managed to hide the smirk on his face. He was going to enjoy this.

“Come again?” Hermione looked a bit shocked, as she glanced at Fred, who just gave her one of his regular smiles, raising his eyebrows a little in invitation. Clearly he wasn’t worried by that idea.

“Hermione, do you need your ears testing? I’m sure you heard me that time as well; I dared you to kiss Fred,” George repeated slowly. “Just climb on his lap and give him a snog. He’s single, and pretty good looking if I do say so myself. You’re single, and you say you want to play the field; you’d be mad to turn down a masterclass in snogging from a Weasley twin. I’d offer myself, but I don’t think Angelina would like it...”

Hermione tiled her head, considering. It was true that she had been wanting to explore her sexuality, and that’s what had caused her to proposition Charlie all those months ago. And here was an opportunity to do so with someone else she cared about and trusted – well, unless he was offering her food or sweets, but that was different – and Fred was a very attractive man, so logically she should take this chance to continue her explorations. She surveyed the identical smirks on Fred and George’s faces and made a decision.

“Alright then.” Crawling across the sofa, she allowed Fred to take her in his arms and pull her onto his lap. He leaned his forehead against hers for a moment, tracing his thumb across Hermione’s bottom lip and then he pulled away slightly, gazing at her mouth with his big blue eyes. He began with a gentle kiss to her throat, and then began to press his lips across her jaw and then on the corner of her mouth. At the same time, he took the back of her neck into his hand, caressing his fingers into her hair. 

It felt wonderful and awful at the same time, and Hermione’s heart sank as she suddenly realised why.

“No,” she whispered, pulling back. “I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s not you, Fred. It’s Charlie…”

Fred’s smile widened and he loudly smacked a kiss on her cheek, reverting to a more brotherly kind of affection and letting her know that they were good. He was surprised that it had taken so long and had never expected to get this far. Hermione buried her head in Fred’s jumper, George’s smirk became a full-on grin and Fred’s long arms tightened around his friend.

“Told you!” George spoke quietly, but not unkindly. He fully expected to see Hermione’s face emerge from his brother’s chest with a matching smile, perhaps looking a tad embarrassed that she now had to confess her love for Charlie to them and then maybe do something about it. George was more than willing to help Hermione figure out how to seduce his brother, even though it did sound a bit weird when you put it that way.

So he was a bit confused when Fred’s face expressed concern and he leaned in to whisper an apology in Hermione’s ear, gently stroking her hair as he did. And then George felt much worse, as Hermione looked up from his brother’s chest and he saw the tears that were rapidly streaming down her face.

“It’s OK, love,” Fred was reassuring her. “We didn’t mean anything by it. Georgie was just trying to tease your real feelings out…”

“Well he’s done that, so well done. Now you can all make fun and have a laugh at my expense. I hope you enjoy it. You know Charlie doesn’t want me, right? Even for sex. I asked him to make love to me, around valentine’s day, and he turned me down.” 

The last words barely squeaked out through her tears and, with that, she lifted her wand. She composed herself for a second or two in an attempt to avoid splinching herself en route, and apparated to the school gate. In retrospect, it wasn’t her cleverest move, but she didn’t want to step into the fireplace and have Fred or George hear where she was going. They would likely follow before she could close the floo down. And she was vaguely aware, even in her trauma, that she at least owed Charlie an explanation as to why she wouldn’t be in his bed that night. Because she needed to be alone, to think, to process this new revelation and to work out what on earth she was going to do about it.

Striding across the grass, she kept wiping her face, somewhat in vain, for the tears continued to flow. After a few minutes of walking, she saw Charlie’s fire and her stomach lurched as she caught sight of the handsome wizard in the distance. He was chopping and stacking logs, shirtless, and she smiled as she remembered how, just a few days ago, she had pointed out that doing it the muggle way would help him with his goal of staying in shape. Remembering the way that his muscles had rippled under her fingers as he had hugged her awake early that morning, her breath caught and a fresh wave of tears flowed over her cheeks. How could she have been so fucking stupid as to fall for this man? Her friend; her confidante; the man who tenderly warmed her through the night but who had never even wanted more than casual, friendly sex with the women in his life. Except with her. She wasn’t even attractive enough for that, in his eyes.

But he was first and foremost her friend, and she needed to tell him that she couldn’t share his bed right now. None of this was his fault, and she at least owed him the knowledge that she couldn’t be there for him that night. For she needed time away from Charlie; time to think about what was going on. Time to harden her heart and find a way to stop the feelings that she knew weren’t a good idea. Because he couldn’t return them.

“Charlie…” He turned as he heard his name, ready to tease her that he would cuddle her with his newly stretched muscles that night. And then, when he saw her face, his own face fell.

“Oh Hermione, love, what’s the matter?”

She stopped in her tracks and held her hands up in front of her, palms towards him, in a gesture that clearly told him to come no closer.

“I’m so sorry, Charlie, I’ve fucked up. I can’t sleep here tonight, I need some space to sort my head out. I’ll leave Crooks, so you have company, and you’re doing so well with staying up in the dark nowadays and you were already saying you should try sleeping alone one night this week to see how you did …” The last words were almost unintelligible through her tears.

Charlie was distraught. Had he hurt her? He’d never forgive himself. Had someone else hurt her? He’d rip them to shreds. But as he stepped forward, wanting to take Hermione into his arms and offer whatever comfort he could, she whispered a quiet, “no,” and side stepped towards his hut, where she used his fireplace to get to her own rooms before closing her floo connection, locking the door, putting up silencing charms and getting into her own bed for the longest night of thinking ever.

Back at the Hogsmeade branch of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, George Weasley was beating himself up and being consoled by his twin.

“It was just as much my fault, Georgie,” Fred was saying. “I got what you were trying to do and I didn’t think it was a bad idea. Besides, it was me who was pretending to fucking kiss her in order to get her to admit her feelings for him … that’s even worse, isn’t it?”

George’s head was in his hands. “I thought she knew already, and just wasn’t admitting it to me. I’ve thought that for months.”

Fred, who had always been a bit less emotionally intelligent than George, was confused by this. “What do you mean? What am I missing here?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? She didn’t know herself. We could all see it, but she couldn’t. She truly didn’t know how she felt about Charlie until she was faced with the idea of kissing another man, and then it hit her that she loves him. But something’s happened between them to make her feel that he doesn’t want her, which is clearly bollocks; you only have to watch the way he looks at her to know he’s crazy about her too. And now she’s gone off all confused, bless her, and I bet you anything she’s closed everything down so we won’t be able to get in and help sort this mess out.”

“Shall we try anyway?” Fred nodded towards the fireplace.

George nodded. Stepping forward, he took and threw a handful of floo powder into the flames, calling out Hermione’s floo address. 

Exactly nothing happened.

“Fuck,” George stepped out again. “Charlie’s?”

Fred pulled a face. “If you like, but do you think that’s a good idea?”

George let out a huge puff of breath. “I don’t fucking know, Freddie. I’ve hurt my friend and I don’t know what to do.”

They both sat in silence for a few moments until an idea came to Fred. Untangling his long legs, he got up off the sofa, went to George’s bedroom and then came back with the twinchat pad that George and Hermione used when they wanted to send messages to each other. 

“Here…”

George nodded his thanks and then wrote a simple note. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I thought you knew how you felt. I love you. Please let me help?” He drew the magical bell symbol over the pad with his wand that would make a little chime ring, thereby alerting Hermione to the fact that she had a new message.

Then he sat and watched the pad for a good ten minutes. More than once, Fred nearly made a quip, but he didn’t have the heart. Then eventually, a note slowly began to appear on the pad.

“I know. It’s not your fault. Or Fred’s. I need time to think. Please let me be xxx.”

“Well at least we know she’s OK,” said Fred.

George mumbled in agreement. “I wonder where she is?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m worried she’s not with Charlie. And I don’t know what that’ll mean for him. They didn’t start sharing a bed on a whim, you know?”

“Oh… Do you want to go over?”

“Not really. He knows he can come here if he needs to. And either she’s there with him, in which case maybe they’re talking and they don’t need us barging in, or she’s not. And if she’s not, then I don’t fancy telling him I’ve upset his favourite witch, even by accident. And nor do I want to face Hermione later on and have to explain how I alerted Charlie to her feelings if she’s not ready for him to know. Oh Gods, what a fuck up!”


	10. Chapter 10

“I need to tell you all about what’s been happening for me this year,” Charlie said.

Several people put down their forks. Charlie had never addressed the entire table at a Weasley family Sunday dinner before. He was the quietest of them all, took time to frame what he wanted to say and rarely spoke loudly enough to be heard over Fred, George or Ginny. But he had been practising all night for this.

“I was hurt during the final battle,” he began. “Not physically hurt, but hurt mentally. I didn’t understand how that could even happen til Hermione explained.” He took a deep breath. This was still hard to say, but he knew he needed to tell them before he could finally move on in the way that he wanted to. 

“I was nearly hit by a lethal spell at the same time as some of the twins’ Peruvian instant darkness powder was released, and the two things got linked in my head and, after the war, every time it started to get dark, I would panic.” He took another deep breath and looked down at the table. “It was alright when I had company, but when I got to Hogwarts last September I could only sleep during the day and I had to sit up all night with lights and a fire. I didn’t even make it through the first week without turning into a grumpy bear.”

He looked up and directly at Hermione, who sat a bit further down the table. “That’s where this wonderful witch came in. Within a few days, Hermione realised something was wrong with me, saw beyond my bad mood and made it her business to find out the truth.”

“That sounds about right,” said Ron, though not unkindly.

Charlie looked at his brother and nodded. Then he looked at his mother. “When I was in the darkest time of my life, unable to sleep and ill from being so tired, Hermione Granger turned up in my hut, in a pair of pink striped pyjamas, with an orange cat under her arm. She climbed into my bed and held me so I could finally sleep at night again.” Molly’s eyes filled with tears and, unable to reach Charlie’s hand, she reached out for the hand of the young witch who had helped her son. She had loved Hermione before, but Molly knew that this was a debt she could never fully repay. 

Charlie continued. “And she’s held me every night ever since, and she helped me get help for my problem until I could finally sleep alone in the dark, which I did for the first time last night. And I was OK, and I slept.” He looked at Hermione and gave her a small smile, which she returned with a nod.

Harry looked nervously at Molly, wondering what would happen when she put together this new information with the Christmas bedroom arrangement. But Molly was avidly watching Charlie and Hermione and seemed not to be thinking beyond the story that her son was telling.

“I’m ashamed of the fact that I’ve hidden this from you all for so long. I’ve let some of you think that it was Hermione who had the problem when it was Hermione who was helping me. She conjured nightlights and she let me be scared and raw and she made it OK. She helped me find a healer and she gently pushed me til I got over myself and went to see her. I owe her so much.”

The entire table was silent. They had never heard Charlie speak this much in his entire life.

“And I love her,” Charlie continued, ignoring Molly’s delighted gasp and Bill’s slow grin as he realised that he was about to win the family bet. He would insist on using the money to take them all out somewhere nice; they deserved a treat. “I love her more than any of you can imagine, and I’m going to take her outside and tell her that properly in private now, but I wanted everyone to know all that first. Because although I’ve loved her for a long time now, I wanted to get better before … well, I wanted to make sure that, when I told her how I felt, she knew it was because I wanted her and not just because I needed her. Excuse us.” Finishing his speech just as quickly as he had begun it, Charlie stood from the table and reached for Hermione’s hand. Too stunned to do anything else, she took it, stood up herself, looking around at his family, and then followed him into the garden.

“They’re lining the windows, aren’t they?” he said, once they had stopped, just a few yards from the house, and Hermione had turned around to face him. “Do you want to go further away?”

“Yes. I mean yes, they’re all up the windows, but I don’t mind.” She reached for his face with one hand. “I’m so proud of you for telling them,” she said. “And for making it through a whole night by yourself. I feel like you’ve really, properly beaten this now.”

Charlie placed his hand over hers, keeping it on his face. Hermione tried to ignore the fact that Molly was now visibly crying with delight, her hands flying everywhere as she held court and ran a commentary on what she imagined was being said in the garden.

“Fred came to see me first thing,” he said. “Apparently it took them a while to build up the courage, because they thought I’d be angry with them when I found out what they had done.” He laughed. “They played exploding snap until midnight to see who drew the short straw and had to face me after what happened yesterday.”

Hermione nodded. “I know. George came to see me early this morning as well. He somehow managed to squeeze himself through the catflap. He’s the reason I’m here. He took me back to their flat to have a long bath and a longer chat and then wouldn’t let go of my hand until we apparated over.”

Charlie reached for Hermione’s waist with his other hand. “Can we clear some things up, love? Because I feel awful that you thought I was rejecting you on valentine’s day. Fred told me what you thought.” He took a deep breath, remembering what Carrie had taught him about staying calm. “I didn’t say no because I didn’t want you, love. I said no because I wanted much more than sex with you, and I didn’t think that was what you wanted.”

Her eyes widened, as he continued speaking.

“I really did want to make love to you.” His eyes were dark and she had no doubt of his feelings for her now. “Love.” He emphasised the word, gazing into her eyes until he was certain she had taken his meaning. Then he leaned in closer. “I still do, if you’d like that. And my reluctance had nothing to do with all that stuff you were talking about that night. It was because I have real feelings for you, and I want to properly be yours. If you’ll have me?”

Hermione’s gaze had softened while he talked. “I want you too, Charlie. When you asked me if I wanted love or sex, I assumed it was because you didn’t want anything deep.” He nodded. He should have considered that, given his previous reputation for adventure and non-committed fun. “That was wrong of me,” she said, “and I’m sorry for that. And … until last night, I thought I did just want sex and experience, but it turns out I don’t.”

Charlie nodded again.

“Did they tell you what they did, last night, with Fred?” Hermione continued. Charlie closed his eyes and looked slightly pained as he murmured in the affirmative. “Don’t blame them,” she stroked his cheek with his thumb and smiled. He knew her love for his twin brothers was very deep and totally platonic. “It was their way of trying to get me to admit how I felt, and clearly it worked. I do want you, Charlie, and I’d love to be with you. But are you OK with the fact that I want to travel as well? I thought you wanted to settle down now? That’s another reason I didn’t talk to you more about things…”

Charlie grinned. “I’m more than OK with that. I did want to be closer to home after the war, but I’m ready to roam a bit again. Not all the time, but a bit of both would be great. In fact, I have a proposal for you, but this is far too much talking and I need to kiss you … may I?”

“Of course…” It was barely a whisper, and it was barely out of her lips before they were being covered with soft kisses by Charlie. His head tipped smoothly to one side as he took both of her cheeks in his hands and moved his mouth over Hermione’s. She sighed at the sensation it provoked, and Charlie took that opportunity to gently tease her lower lip with his tongue before using it to search for and then tangle with her own. Hermione felt a thrill at the sensation and realised she wasn’t going to sleep much that night. Or so she hoped. She moved her face back from his slightly, needing to clarify that. “You’re not going to make me wait longer, are you?” she checked. “Because I want another massage when we get back to Hogwarts, and I want you to finish it properly this time.”

Charlie immediately felt himself get hard. “Anything my lady wants.” He wove a hand into her hair, pulling it gently from her face. “I’m at your service, witch.” He kissed her neck before growling his next words into her ear. “Love … sex … massage … all night long… It’s a good thing I’m not afraid of the dark…”

Hermione groaned, half from the sensations he was evoking in her and half from knowing that they were being watched and that she needed to maintain some control in front of their rest of his – no, their – family. Putting her hands on his shoulders, she kissed Charlie’s mouth very thoroughly again before they finally pulled away from each other, both breathing heavily.

“We’re going to have to face them sometime,” he whispered into her neck.

“I’m ready if you are,” she said.

“I’m ready if you’ll stand in front of me.”

Hermione laughed. “Did that turn you on?”

“Of course!” Charlie gave her one last, long kiss and then moved carefully to stand behind Hermione, finally facing his family, who were all looking out of the windows. He wound his arms around the smaller witch and then said, in a louder voice than usual, “OK, nosey buggers, out you come.”

Within seconds, they were assembled and applauding. Charlie and Hermione took a quick bow, which was slightly out of character for both of them, but they were a bit high from the speed and intensity of what had just happened.

“I have one more announcement, which I might as well tell you all together,” Charlie said. “Fred?”

Fred stepped forward, bowed to Hermione and presented her with a small gift-wrapped package. He then took another out of his pocket, enlarged it with his wand and, to Charlie’s surprise, handed it to his brother. “That’s a personal apology from me and George for nearly snogging the woman you love,” he said, very quietly and with a wink. “You can unwrap it here, but don’t look inside the actual gift til you get home,” he whispered, even more quietly. Charlie reached out and pulled his brother into a hug.

“What’s mine for?” Hermione asked Fred as she turned the gaudily-wrapped parcel over in her hand.

“Yours,” said George, “is from all three of us. We’ll let Charlie explain.”

“OK,” Charlie readied himself again for another speech. “Open yours first,” he whispered to her, and Hermione pulled off the wrapping paper to find a tiny, soft cotton patchwork rucksack, barely bigger than the beaded bag that she had carried while she, Harry and Ron had been on the run.

“We know you’re a whiz at undetectable extension charms,” said George, “so we figured you should have something little and fun to put everything in when you travel the world.”

“Oh! It’s lovely,” Hermione said, looking between the three wizards. “Thank you.”

“Well it was Charlie’s idea,” Fred said, looking at his older brother. “I merely went to the muggle shops this morning. Marvellous muggle idea, Sunday opening.”

Charlie smiled at Hermione. “After Fred set me straight this morning, I went to see Minerva and we had a chat. Now, none of this is final, and there’s plenty of time to think about it before you need to decide, but I happened to mention that I really loved doing Hagrid’s job this year but that I had fallen for a certain witch who was really torn between loving her own teaching job and wanting to travel.”

He gave Hermione a moment to process that before he carried on. 

“And it turns out that neither Minerva not Hagrid want to retire in the traditional sense of the word; they both just want to teach less. Apparently,” he chuckled, “Hagrid’s having a lovely time in France but Madame Maxime needs to do some work now and again as well! So Minerva is proposing that, once we reach the end of this year, you and I could do a job share with them, so we could all teach for half the year. Taking turns. And they can have more time to do whatever they want to do, and you and I can travel and still have half a job back at Hogwarts…”

Hermione gasped as he finished. “Really?”

He nodded. “I’ve got plenty saved from my dragon keeping days and you’ve got your Wheezes royalties; we don’t need to work full-time.”

“That would be perfect!” Hermione exclaimed. 

“Good,” he grinned. “That’s what I thought too!”

“You will come back for at least half of my Sunday dinners each year though, won’t you?” Molly asked.

“Yes, absolutely Mum, don’t worry,” Charlie said. “And I don’t suppose we’ll roam forever. Just enough to let Hermione sow her wild travel oats!”

Fred snickered when he heard that. “Open your present then, Charlie,” he said quickly, trying to avert a telling off from his mum.

Charlie tore the paper off the gift-wrapped package in his hand and laughed when he saw that Fred had also bought him a muggle rucksack. It was much bigger than Hermione’s though. And Fred had charmed it to look like it was made from dragon skin rather than patchwork.

“We know you like to work out, Charlie, so we thought you should have the chance to carry your stuff the muggle way,” Fred grinned. “And besides, you’d look girly with a tiny backpack; we don’t want Hermione to be embarrassed walking around the world with you!”

Charlie laughed loudly. “It’s great, thank you!”

“And Hermione,” George said, “if you like, we can open an international account at Gringotts with the rest of the wages we owe you for this year and then your product royalties can be paid directly into it each month. Apparently you can get a special muggle card that gets attached to it that you can use to buy stuff anywhere in the world.”

“What a wonderful idea!” Hermione was touched by their thoughtfulness.

“I can’t wait any longer,” Molly’s voice came from near the house, and she ran over to the two of them with open arms. “Welcome to the family officially, Hermione,” she said. Hermione looked at Charlie, who shrugged.

“We’re not getting married or anything, Mum. Not yet, anyway.”

Molly patted him. “Of course not, Charlie. Not YET, I know that.”

Hermione smiled. Having spent last night feeling sad because, for the first time in months, she hadn’t been in Charlie’s arms, she was closer to liking the idea of settling down than she had ever been. And if settling down could mean she still got to have adventures with Charlie by her side as well as enjoying the comforts of home and Hogwarts, well that was perfect. She remembered her promise to her parents and wondered if he would be up for visiting Australia first. Maybe New Zealand and Bali as well…

Charlie looked at her fondly, and then a thought occurred to him. He ran inside the house and it was a good five minutes before he re-emerged. That wasn’t a problem, because it gave Hermione a chance to answer everyone else’s questions and to catch up with Bill and Fleur, who she hadn’t seen for a few weeks. But eventually Charlie re-emerged from The Burrow, and both Hermione and George laughed loudly when they saw what he was holding.

“Not quite giving up the male ego yet then, Charlie?” George joked.

“No,” Charlie smiled at his brother good-naturedly, but this was important to him. He handed his old quidditch sweater to Hermione. “I won’t be weird about it if you want to keep George’s as well, but I want the chance to keep you warm every night now, even when I’m not in your bed.”

Hermione stood on tiptoes to kiss him. Even though Charlie was the shortest Weasley, he was still a good few inches taller than her. “What a lovely thought.” Then, quietly enough so that his mother couldn’t hear, she added, “but I don’t see any reason to let you leave my bed now, Charlie. So you can keep me warm yourself…”


	11. Epilogue

Hermione stretched out languidly on the king-sized bed, enjoying the feeling of the cooling breeze on her skin, still wet from the shower. The sun was getting lower in the sky, but there would still be plenty of time to enjoy a drink on their hotel room balcony before dinner, which they were planning to have in the tiny seaside restaurant that served freshly fried barramundi, crisp salad and cold wine. 

Since packing their rucksacks in July and waving a temporary farewell to their friends at Hogwarts (and placing a grumpy but resigned Crookshanks in the loving care of Minerva while a much happier Polix went to stay at the twins’ shop), she and Charlie had apparated, flooed and portkeyed their way through the magical ministries of nine countries. They had decided to make their outward journey by mostly magical means and then fly home on a muggle plane in order to try out different travel experiences while maximising time with Hermione’s parents at the end of this, their first big trip. They had had a practice run to muggle Edinburgh, ostensibly to test their rucksacks and run in the magical walking boots that the Weasleys had bought them each as a leaving present, but also because Hermione was keen to stock up on novels for the journey. 

They began their trip in Europe, visiting Paris, Madrid and then Frankfurt, where on their first day they wandered through the Römer and over the Iron Bridge in the morning and then, much to Charlie’s delight, Hermione surprised him by taking him to see enormous dinosaurs at the Senckenberg Natural History Museum. Next was Athens, where Charlie gallantly followed Hermione through museums and labyrinthine ancient ruins (though without his heavy rucksack, which he left at the hotel for the day … a wizard only needs so much strength training after all, especially when his beloved witch sports a clever little patchwork backpack) before they took a muggle ferry ride around a few of the Greek islands. 

The archaeological sites that Hermione loved so much reminded Charlie slightly of the trip that the Weasleys had taken to Egypt a few years before, but Hermione’s idea of collecting memories – which involved making love in at least one different and interesting location in each new place they visited – added a new twist to the experience and gave him a special fondness for deserted piles of ancient, grass-covered rocks. It was a long way from their first time together, on the night they had returned from The Burrow to find that Fred’s secret present was a bottle of champagne and a basket of treats left over from Valentine’s day. Hermione had fully intended to claim the massage that Charlie had promised her, but they were both so turned on from anticipation built through the months of holding each other through the long Scottish nights that they barely made it out of their clothes before Hermione was pushing Charlie down into an arm chair so that she could climb into his lap and finally feel him inside her. 

Once they had soaked up the Grecian sun, and in need of a few days’ rest and a washing machine, or at least somewhere to unpack everything properly and do a few laundry charms, they slipped to Romania for a week at the Reserve. Charlie had introduced Hermione to his old colleagues and endured some ribbing about the speed at which he had settled down into a relationship tempered with a good deal of sly admiration at the fact that he had landed himself such a talented, bright and lovely witch. Charlie and Hermione both loved the fact that some of their time was spent in tents (albeit of the wizarding variety) or with friends and eating local home-cooked meals or street food. But now and again, especially on the nights following the twins’ monthly deposit of Hermione’s royalties into her bank account, they would splurge on a lavish hotel and a few nice restaurant dinners. 

After Romania, they had made some longer journeys; to India, Thailand and Singapore. They knew they didn’t have nearly as much time to spend in each country as they would like to before they moved on to Australia and then returned to England, but both Minerva and Hagrid had insisted that the young lovers take off the entire Autumn term, which gave them an opportunity to at least sample some of the places that they wanted to return to spend more time in on another trip. They would then teach at the school for the rest of the year, allowing their mentors some leave of their own.

Everywhere they went, Hermione was gripped by the different cultures and smells. She soaked up everything, read books written by people who lived in places she visited and developed a passion for spicy food. Charlie loved trying new food too, but his real travel passion was muggle beer. Having fallen in love with the range of good German beer that was available, he had sought out the wizarding quarter and owled Fred and George, asking them to find and send him a ‘beers of the world’ book as an early birthday present so that he could learn about, search for, taste and tick off as many as possible. Hermione loved to tease Charlie about this, as they sat at pub, bar and restaurant tables in each different place they visited. First, he would stand at the bar and pour over the drinks menu, cross-referencing with his book and, once he had ordered, tasted and considered his decision on each, he would search for and turn to the appropriate page in his book, making notes in the margin to himself on which ones he enjoyed and wanted to taste again on a future visit. 

Hermione was delighted when, during a skype call which they made to her parents one evening from an internet café in Frankfurt, Hermione’s father had seen the bottle in Charlie’s hand and the two men – who had never before met or talked – bonded over their shared love of beer. Charlie waxed lyrical about the local kiosk which sold beer from all over the world, and politely refrained from mentioning that Hermione had become uncharacteristically tipsy the previous day after falling in love with the taste of the local Mispelchen shots that traditionally followed the Apfelwein that the bartender had served her when she had asked to try a local speciality. Hermione’s dad had spent a good few minutes quizzing the wizard who had captured his daughter’s heart about what kind of beer he liked best and had taken the opportunity to introduce Charlie to the idea of microbreweries and tasting flights. 

Charlie had not been disinterested in detailed travel planning before, but his new passion meant that he was just as likely to research the location and history of good beer as Hermione was to plan trips to interesting things to see, do and read. More often than not, early evenings would find them wandering in a new place and she would find herself steered to an inn or restaurant where Charlie would order Hermione a glass of wine and ensure that she was comfortably settled at a nice table with her latest book before leaning on the bar and opening a conversation with the local barman about what he should try next. Invariably, Charlie’s new friends would delight in seeing his well-travelled beer book and Hermione joked with Ginny and Harry, when she floo-called them from one wizarding hotel, that Charlie could probably travel from place to place on his own with his book now, as he was much better at striking up conversations and making friends with random strangers now that he had a subject which (unlike dragon keeping) was muggle-friendly.

When they finally reached Australia, they had made their way as quickly as possible to Hermione’s parents’ house, where she had been happily reunited with the couple that she hadn’t been sure she would see again. They had welcomed Charlie with open arms; Hermione’s dad especially glad that the imminent arrival of his daughter’s love had given him the perfect excuse to stock up on a cellar full of beer which he quickly began to enlist Charlie’s help in working through.

Bali and New Zealand, they had decided, were going to have to wait for next year. They were having such a lovely time in Australia, and Molly had been most insistent that they should be home at least a week before Christmas, in order to fully participate in the build-up to the winter festivities. Seeing how delighted Hermione was to spend time with her parents, Charlie had suggested they ensure that they visited Australia at least once a year. “Let’s face it,” he pointed out, when he had finally learned how to read the account statement that she received by monthly owl from Gringotts’ muggle currency liaison goblin, “the sales from that love potion alone will cover the cost of the tickets, and I don’t think that’s going to go out of fashion soon!” Realising that he was right, Hermione suggested that they should spend their last couple of nights in a small, luxury wizarding hotel in Byron Bay before taking a business class flight (courtesy of the love potion) from Brisbane to Singapore and then Heathrow. 

Charlie was, of course, down at the bar, having promised to collect a drink for them each to enjoy on the balcony. They could easily have used room service, but Hermione hadn’t even mentioned it, not wanting to deprive him of his last chance to chat with an innkeeper and choose his beer. Although Hannah had now taken over running The Leaky Cauldron, so she imagined that Charlie, Neville, George and Fred would be spending a few evenings propping up the bar there together in the new year. Smiling to herself, Hermione wondered whether to owl Hannah and give her advance warning of the existence of Charlie’s beer book.

As she rested on the bed, half-covered by a brightly covered sarong that she had pulled over herself to protect her modesty lest anyone be walking past when Charlie opened the door, Hermione realised that she was looking forward to their return home. It was wonderful to travel, but it was lovely to go home as well; it gave one a new appreciation of the everyday things that could otherwise be taken for granted. Molly had made it clear before they had even left that she was expecting them to apparate straight to The Burrow from Heathrow and hand over their laundry, assuring Hermione that she and Charlie could share his and Bill’s old room whenever they weren’t at Hogwarts. That statement had surprised Hermione at first, until she had realised just how grateful the older witch was that Hermione had held and cared for her second-eldest son through his fears. 

“How can I keep you from spending your nights together when you loved him so well before you even loved him?” Molly had said, with tears in her eyes. “I’ll enlarge Charlie’s bed and swap Bill’s for an extra wardrobe and dresser so you have somewhere to put all your things.”

Hermione smiled as she imagined how long it would take her to empty the bottomless chasm of the tiny backpack that the boys had bought her. She had filled it with trinkets for everyone’s Christmas stockings as they travelled and couldn’t wait to tip it upside down on their bed and begin wrapping her treasures. She was particularly looking forward to giving George and Fred the garishly coloured cotton outfits she had had specially made for them in Thailand. She was confident that, come summer, they would be wearing them up and down Diagon Alley, seeing them as a means to attract attention and thus custom.

The hotel room door clicked, pulling Hermione from her happy reverie.

“Hello gorgeous,” she smiled, as Charlie entered the hotel room, opening the door so carefully with his hip that she needn’t have bothered with the sarong at all. To her surprise, he wasn’t carrying any beer, instead holding a silver ice bucket – complete with ice and champagne – in one hand and a pair of champagne flutes in the other. 

“Thought we should have a treat,” he smiled, putting the bucket and glasses on his side of the bed and coming to sit beside her. “Though you’re enough of a treat not to need that…” He leant down, kissing her bare shoulder as his hand reached across her hip.

“Ooooh Charlie, that’s cold,” Hermione laughed, lifting the hand that had been holding the ice bucket from her body.

“Yeah?” He leaned in closer and kissed her full lips. “I’d better warm it up then, given what I have in mind. Hang on…”

Intrigued, Hermione followed him with her eyes as he cast a warming charm on each hand in turn. Smiling at his thoughtfulness, she watched him put his wand down and then strip off his shirt in one movement. Silently, she sent grateful thoughts to the twins, for getting him a muggle rucksack, as she watched his muscles ripple.

“Enjoying the view, lovely?” he asked.

“Always,” Hermione told him, curving her own hand down her body, knowing that it turned him on immensely when she touched herself in any way.

“Fuck.” She was rewarded, as ever, with the darkening of his eyes, and he reached into his pocket as he continued to move towards her.

“You know there’s an old muggle joke about whether you have something in your pocket or are just pleased to see me?” she asked him, and he laughed.

“Both.” She loved it when he became monosyllabic. He chatted more when he was flirting, but when he was ready for love, truly ready to couple with her and give her body the physical attention it needed, he tended to speak even less than usual. Although he then surprised her by proving her wrong on that point, showing her what was in his pocket and offering, by explanation, the fact that he had been downstairs picking up a package that he had asked George to send over.

“What’s that then?” Hermione asked, intrigued. 

Charlie simply pulled his hand out of his pocket, discarding the brown wrapping paper and showing her a small bottle. “Massage oil. With a bit of your own recipe in, courtesy of George. Never did give you that massage when we got back to Hogwarts. Figured it was about time I paid up, while we still have time to ourselves.”

Hermione groaned. They had made love so many times now, and still he never failed to turn her on with just a few words or a simple gesture. 

“Roll over then, lovely.”

She was wet already, just from his voice. She eyed the champagne.

“Don’t you worry about that, love. That’ll still be cold when you’re done. Marvellous muggle invention, ice.” He moved his mouth close to her ear. “Want to know what I have planned for you?” She nodded and he continued, whispering now. “We’ll start with a massage, then a long slow fuck, then champagne, dinner, more champagne and then more long slow fucking through the night…”

“Gods.” His oil covered hands slid over her back; the aroma of the oil and the feel of his touch tantalising her senses.

“You’ve taken me in nine different countries now, you know.” Charlie’s voice was slow and deep and Hermione smiled as he continued to stroke her back. Since the first time she had questioned Charlie’s turn of phrase, he had never failed to speak of Hermione taking him and not the other way around. 

“You’re wrong, gorgeous. It’s ten. Or eleven, depending on how you count...”

There was a pause while he thought. 

“Oh,” he leaned forward, reaching his large hands around her side, causing Hermione to catch her breath, knowing his fingers were headed towards her nipples. “England and Scotland?”

“Mmmmmm hmmmmm.” She was beginning to lose the capacity for debate, which pleased Charlie immensely. That was a key goal in making love with his witch. 

“If we nipped to the Welsh reserve for a night before we go back to Hogwarts, we could make it twelve...”

“Mmmmmmm...” Now his big hands were cradling and skimming her ribs, spreading the oil everywhere, and making her dizzy with desire. Hermione gave a low moan as his fingertips moved around to her front and came into contact with her nipples before he cupped each of her breasts in one of his large hands. “Charlie...”

He smiled, continuing the slow strokes and then teasingly moving his hands lower. He remembered the first massage he gave her, when the same potion led him to sneak his hands down to touch her bottom and encouraged her to lift herself up and remove her knickers, showing herself to him in the process. He grew fully hard at the memory and his own breathing rate increased. 

Charlie’s hands moved lower still, teasing her bottom and thighs, just as he had done that night; softly stroking the creases in her skin, skimming his fingers over her inner thighs and then slowly, slowly slipping between her thighs to touch her core and cupping her pussy with his hand, which always made her gasp in pleasure. Nowadays, he was familiar with her curves and folds; he knew the taste of her and the way she would gently grip her thighs to his head when he sucked her to orgasm. He knew how to bring her to a peak at different times of the month, and how to tease her and keep her on the brink for so long that she would beg him for release. 

“Take me,” he would growl as he laid on his back and caressed her hips with his hands, watching her face reflect her pleasure as she sunk down onto his cock, sheathing him fully inside her. Charlie had taught her everything he knew, and learned just as much from Hermione about what she liked. 

They had experimented with different places and positions, finding that Hermione generally came hardest and fastest on top but loved it when Charlie held her against the wall and rocked himself into her. He loved it when she took control, even pulling his hair a little as he came. They made love everywhere they went and found pleasure in the variety that travel added. They ate olives from each other’s fingers in Greece, did body shots in Romania and growled and giggled their way through the Kama sutra in India. 

But today, Charlie was massaging her the same way he did when he first touched her naked body. Except he wasn’t going to stop and cover her with the quilt this time. He was going to make love to her way she had asked him to all those months ago. That would be a fitting way to end the last night of their first trip together. The first, he hoped, of many. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensations in his fingers. Hermione squeaked at the touch of his fingertip on her clit and, just as he had done the last time, Charlie moved his body right behind hers. But this time, his movement didn’t stop. 

“Can I make you come, love? Can I play with your pussy?” 

Hermione hummed her consent, spreading her legs further apart for him and loving how that simple action made her feel. Charlie’s fingers teased her further, spreading her lips wide and rubbing her clit in rhythmic strokes. He played with her as languidly as he could, wanting this evening to be one they would always remember. 

“Oh yes, Charlie...” He knew she was close and, just in time, he remembered to cup her bottom with his other hand, the way she had liked it before. It sent her over the edge and she cried out his name again. This time, she didn’t wait to recover before she made her request. “Make love to me...”

And he did. Pulling her gently towards him, Charlie lifted her top leg and held it over his arm. As he slid his cock into her, they both groaned at the sensation; familiar and achingly lovely. He began to move in and out of her; not too fast, but enough that it didn’t take long before his own breathing was ragged, matching hers. Hermione’s orgasms never seemed to end when she was making love with Charlie; she would tumble from one to the other with little sense of where she was or what else was happening. He loved being able to make her come undone to that extent. She whimpered, tumbling into another release as Charlie’s body tensed and he came inside her, calling her name. 

Afterwards, they sat on the balcony sipping champagne in the early evening heat; Charlie in a pair of boxer shorts and Hermione in her sarong. 

“Just think,” he said. “If you hadn’t come flooing over to see what my light was about that night...”

Hermione smiled. “You’d be unbelievably grumpy by now.”

Charlie nodded, tipping his glass towards her. “Thank you for climbing into my bed. All bossy and ‘come ON Charlie’ in your pink stripey pyjamas.”

Hermione smiled, returning the gesture. “Thank you for keeping me warm in your big strong wizardy arms.”

Charlie laughed. “I’m glad you haven’t stopped sounding like George sometimes. He’s going to be beside himself to see you, you know.”

“I am aware,” Hermione laughed, taking another sip of champagne. “He and Fred have sent three separate owls this week, letting me know that my potions expertise is required at my earliest convenience. And that they will be stocking up on ‘good English grub’ in the flat lest we have had enough foreign food.”

“Four,” Charlie said, pulling a second brown paper-wrapped parcel from his pocket which looked like it had been shrunk for the journey. “He’s sent you a new book for the flight; says it’s to sweeten you up and remind you how much he misses you. Best enjoy our last night and dinner on the road and get home then?” Charlie smiled and Hermione nodded. 

She refilled their glasses and then raised hers again. “To our next adventure then?”

“Our next adventure. That sounds great, love...”

**Author's Note:**

> I love to read your comments, and they spur me on to write, edit and post faster, thank you :-)


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